The Xeoforce Equation
by The-Mighty-Third-Draft
Summary: While Hermione searches for the cure to a terrible curse, a rogue force is tearing her life apart. Meanwhile, Lucius Malfoy must work for his freedom. Drawn together by accident, they soon realise they share the same agenda. Absolution awaits. Nothing less will suffice. Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy. Rated M.
1. The Waiting Viper

**A/N - Hi folks. Welcome to my latest project. Let me know what you think! Reviews are my fix ;) **

**This story follows on after the events of Deathly Hallows with the exception that Hermione doesn't marry Ron after all ;) Tricky, tricky chaos theory *evil smirk* That darned butterfly just won't stop flapping about in my head...o.O**

**Obviously, characters belong to JK Rowling and I'm not making any money from this, (I am, however, enjoying myself IMMENSELY.) **

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><p><strong><span>The Xeoforce Equation<span>**

1. The Waiting Viper

It was easy to be brave - and pragmatic - when half a country lay between Hermione Granger and Malfoy Manor. Her stomach twisted into knots as the wrought iron gates morphed into an ugly face. Heavy wards caressed her skin and the scarred letters that Bellatrix Lestrange had carved into her forearm tingled unpleasantly. Hermione felt _sick_.

'State your purpose,' the iron gatekeeper barked.

'Hermione Granger. I'm here about the Xeoforce Equation.'

The gate arched an eyebrow. Hermione felt a nervous laugh bubble up. The trademark expression was just so quintessentially _Malfoy_.

The Manor was almost minimalistic in its post-Gothic design. The grounds were deserted and stank of neglect. Shadows were thick between the courtyard trees and patches of dense fog haunted the lawns, revenants in cobweb shrouds. A lone albino peacock strutted proudly around the risen birch roots, his pink feet a splash of colour against the frost.

A diminutive and barely clothed House Elf apparated to the gate and bowed lopsidedly.

'Good day, Miss Hermione Granger,' she squeaked. 'Misty is so very pleased to make your acquaintance. Please come in.'

Hermione had the feeling she'd been recognised, though she wasn't sure if it was for her part in the War or her work for House Elf rights. Misty huddled in a dirty pillowcase; an inadequate defence against the bitter November chill.

Heavy warding parted like dense cloud. The gate morphed back to its usual design and the iron took on a sparkly, translucent texture that indicated she should walk straight through. She found it deeply unnerving. As she crossed the threshold, a wash of powerful magic sensitized her skin and the atmosphere lightened immediately. She sighed a breath of relief. It was only after she'd left behind the sense of intense desolation and the comparative gloom of the outer defences that it dawned on her; the grounds were enchanted to be unappealing to strangers.

Misty lead Hermione along a gravel path that clicked and popped under her boot-heels like dry little finger bones. A dry topiary peacock listed to one side, root-and-earth innards disembowelled from the bowl of a clay pot. Unmaintained hedgerows grew wild and grass as tall as her knees was trodden into pathways to outhouses and rockeries. There were black hex-marks on the walls and pillars. Every window was dark, curtains drawn in the fashion of a home in mourning except for a few rooms on the second floor.

Misty scampered ahead to be out of the cold. In sympathy with her obvious discomfort, Hermione hurried to the front steps. She was glad to find the foyer warm. Hermione shed her scarf and coat. Misty levitated them onto a hook in a little closet under the stairs. Hermione's overstuffed book-bag chose that moment to finally relinquish its fingernail hold on life. The strap snapped and hit the floor like a fallen snake. Her _Ministry Guidelines for the Rights of House Elves_ leaflets scattered the flagstones like disobedient grey butterflies.

'I'm sorry,' Hermione started to pick them up.

'No, no Miss!' Misty reassured her quickly. 'It's not a problem. Misty will see to it!'

The Elf scurried about, gathering the half-sheet papers into a neat pile. She went into the darkness under the stairs to pluck one that had gone a bit further than its peers and returned to hand them over carefully. For a moment, Misty eyed the topmost sheet with a keen interest. When she realised Hermione was watching her closely, she submerged her curiosity under a mask of innocence and stepped back to fold her little hands like a child trying to look innocuous.

'Follow Misty, please, Miss. Master Lucius will see you now.'

The Manor smelled familiar; old stone, ancient books and velvet undisturbed for years. It brought back unpleasant memories that Hermione tried to ignore. The grey marble she remembered from her one and only visit was actually streaked with white veins by daylight, lending the surfaces a soft, elegant shimmer. A set of double doors left of the staircase with twin bronze handles jarred a sense of recollection, though she couldn't recall why they were important.

Misty's bare feet slapped softly on the stone steps. Hermione's heels were uncomfortably loud. The staircase wound about in an elegant curve that lead to a second floor landing. She guessed, by the layout, that they'd just walked over the drawing room.

The stairs brought them out in a long red corridor that was lent natural light by tall windows to her right, each supported by a single stone cross. Busts and paintings haunted the alcoves. Most of them scowled as she passed. The first room on the left was a reception room. The drapes were missing, the light inside harsh and undiluted. House Elves busily scrubbed every surface. The second room was an office.

As Misty brought her to a wide set of double doors and knocked, Hermione peered over the balcony. The ballroom below was in a state of undress, the drapes and nets missing from tall windows. An impressive chandelier sat upon a wooden frame. House elves, clad similarly to Misty meticulously polished every crystal facet. Others scrubbed the floor and walls, their big eyes reflective like dogs at night. Their abrasive brushes were loud in the quiet. Nobody spoke.

The doors opened onto a study that was as large as her sitting room. It was devoid of the paperwork in the office and it boasted a mahogany desk big enough for three to sit comfortably. Two of the four walls were lined with bookcases and one with windows. Every volume was neatly placed, dusted and probably aired to boot. She couldn't imagine Malfoy allowing an expensive collection to dampen and spoil. The wood was dark and the furnishings exquisite. A few sparse, magical photographs littered the grey stone mantel. She noticed a picture of a much younger Lucius, his arms around a little Draco. They were sharing a smile over handfuls of Autumn leaves.

Overstuffed red leather seats looked well used. The expensive rugs nearest the bookshelves and fire were worn almost bare by constant footfall. A Christmas fire crackled in the grate and lent her frozen extremities some much-needed warmth. The familiar scent of wood-smoke threatened to snatch her into a memory of her younger years, when security was a given. In the alcove nearest the tall windows, a cabinet harboured an extensive collection of decanters and bottles beside a huddle of clean glasses upon a silver tray.

Lucius Malfoy stood very close to the fire with his arm braced on the mantel. His slightly straggly hair had grown long enough to tickle his ribs. In his free hand he cradled a crystal wineglass, half full. He turned to appraise her and Hermione felt the barb of a vicious mental insight as keenly as if he'd insulted her aloud. The man was a shadow of his former self. He'd lost a lot of weight and there were unbecoming shadows under his flinty blue eyes. His proud posture hid a prolonged and profound exhaustion. Though clean and well presented, he was unmistakeably _diminished_.

'Mr Malfoy. I hope I'm not putting you out,' she said quickly. 'Your cooperation really means a lot to us. We'd have to go to extreme lengths for this information otherwise. Thank you.'

'As the Minister so often sees fit to remind me, Miss Granger, we must all do our part,' his tone carried a hint of bitter lemon and at the sound of his cultured drawl sent a jolt of very real fear through her.

_He still sounds the same._

'This is your home, Mr Malfoy. I wouldn't presume,' she felt she'd mastered diplomacy with that sentence.

He finished the wine and poured himself another glass. His hands trembled subtly. It made him look vulnerable which in turn made Hermione uniquely _uncomfortable_.

'What an admirable quality,' his eyes glittered like shards of very fine, blue glass. 'How very..._Gryffindor _of you.'

She smiled tightly.

'It's been a long time since school, Mr Malfoy. Don't you think we're a bit past Hogwarts house politics?'

His lips twisted into his trademark little smirk.

'I worked at the Ministry for twenty years. You'd be surprised how often Hogwarts house politics come up in conversation.'

He detached from the mantel and straightened. His lips lifted, humourlessly.

'How fitting it should be you,' he said. 'I imagine the Minister is pleased in his...machinations.'

'I-I'm not Ministry funded,' she straightened and tried to control her anxious voice. 'This is private research, on behalf of Lox Labs.'

'But public endorsement can go a long way to securing funding, Miss Granger,' his eyebrow arched pointedly. 'The Minister has certainly done his best to indicate his support.'

That was certainly true.

She'd last glimpsed the Malfoys at the Hogwarts feast just after the fall of Voldemort. Narcissa, who had risked so much to save Harry's life, looked ill-at-ease and Lucius eyed those closest to him under pink-lined lids as though he expected to be hauled away without a trial. He was broken, his shattered composure held together by strands as fine and fragile as his own hair. Few had worked up the courage or desire to speak to them, Hermione included. His eyes were frozen.

'The book you seek is very rare and needless to say, extremely valuable. You will exercise the greatest caution with it,' he loomed over her. 'It must not leave the library.'

She was almost overcome by irrational fear. Harry had taught her a lot of defensive spells from his Auror training. Her hand twitched for her wand, hidden in a secret pocket in her work robes. He froze. His eyebrow twitched upward, a silent challenge. She managed to release the handle and breathed out slowly, steadily.

'I'll be careful,' she tried to keep her voice even. It was difficult. Her mind played back images from _that_ night. She'd done her best to prepare for coming here but to her chagrin, she realised now that no book could protect her from her own memories. She was more afraid to be back than she'd ever want to admit.

Lucius straightened. He gestured to the doors with an arched eyebrow.

'Shall we, then?'

She followed him up a second marble staircase onto the third floor.

He pushed open the heavy oak doors and gestured for her to precede him. She stopped instantly. Hunger chased unadulterated shock across the canvas of her face.

_So expressive,_ Lucius thought with amusement as he watched her soak up the sight and smell of Bookworm Heaven. He'd not seen such appreciation for his collection in so long it was almost pleasant to witness, because he too had a love of books.

'Oh my God!' she exclaimed, as she spun on the spot.

A black iron spiral staircase joined a mezzanine floor, one at each end of the hall. An artistic, faceted ceiling was designed to naturally enhance the available light. It was airy, beautiful and bountiful, a stark contrast to the rest of the house. It was also spotless and clearly loved. It had the air of a room used often, the warmth of recent habitation and human energy.

'I had no idea you had so many,' she said unguardedly.

'Why would you?' he asked with obvious distaste. 'It's not as if I ever intend to make it a_ public _library, Miss Granger.'

His tone suggested that he found the idea of any part of his collection becoming a public anything to be _very_ distasteful.

A deep grate was set far enough into the broad chimney base to minimise the risk of sparks. It crackled with a fresh fire. She tingled with familiar excitement as she imagined reading in here and was instantly distressed that even if she camped out here and never left, she couldn't possibly read them all in one lifetime.

'This way,' he lead the way through the high shelves by wand-light, where the shadows deepened despite the huge windows. His voice floated to rub her ears, soft, sinuous and a little frightening.

'You must be very brave to come back here alone, Miss Granger. Considering you've had such..._direct_...experience of this house.'

Her heart rate picked up.

'I was only here once, Mr Malfoy, and it was a long time ago.'

He turned. His hair fell in twin curtains. He drew himself up, his lips upturned in a smirk._ By God he's tall!_

'Still. It was _memorable_,' he arched that eyebrow again.

Hermione laid a hand on her ribs where the worst of the after-effects tended to strike.

'I'm sure _you'd_ know that the Cruciatus leaves a physical trace long after the curse is cast. You must have as many reminders as I do,' she made it sound almost innocent.

Lucius smiled, one side only, humourless.

'I'm sure Muggles have something for pain?' He sounded every bit as innocent as she.

'It doesn't work on _witches_,' she let a little bite creep into her voice.

'What a shame,' he murmured, insincerely.

He turned the light of his wand on a greyish volume that was at least six inches thick.

'I trust you can manage,' he said, an unmistakeable edge of sneer in his voice. '_Do _mind the steps, Miss Granger.'

He left her. She watched his back. _You too_, she thought,_ I hope you trip over your Pureblood pride on the way down._

_'Asshole_,' she mouthed to the shelf.

**oOo**

Hermione thought of Gillian cooped up in the lab, her grey hair frazzled from the heat of the cauldron. She felt the tiniest quiver of guilt that she was enjoying her reading so much.

The book wouldn't be a quick study. She wondered how Malfoy would take that. Parts of it were written by hand in a rune-system that was simply murderous to translate but it was becoming worth every minute because already she was uncovering an alternative use of Willow in diagnostic spells, which was an avenue she hadn't even considered trying. It was certainly far safer than Nightshade, which Hermione knew the _Department for the Regulation of Magical Medical Research_ would never consent to test on human subjects.

Malfoy Sr came to the library with Misty in tow. The diminutive elf wrung her hands as Lucius spun on one dragon-hide heel and jabbed his cane-tip at the precariously stacked pile of books on the edge of a desk. Hermione noticed the gap on the upper shelves and assumed Misty was simply cleaning.

'Would you care to explain why _these_ have not been returned to their proper place?' he enquired, softly.

Misty shifted uncomfortably. She said something quiet.

'Speak up!' Lucius snapped.

'Master...the water leaked from the _Study of Oceans_ again-'

Malfoy put his cane down with a thump. Misty flinched. He stared blue daggers at her.

'Have you never heard of a _drying charm?_ Come, Misty. Surely you can manage _that_?' he sneered.

'Y-Yes, master,' Misty bowed low.

'While you're at it, perhaps a ball and chain for that blasted sister of yours!'

Misty cringed.

'Please, Master-' she whispered. 'Misty speak with Bobbly...Bobbly not mean to! She have nightmare and disapparate by accident!'

Malfoy arched an eyebrow at her.

'Set it to rights. _Immediately_!'

He glanced once at Hermione.

'Something to say, Miss Granger?' he sneered.

She gave a light shrug and shook her head.

'No,' she said, a little defensively.

She pointedly returned her attention to the book.

The _tap, tap, tap_ of his cane faded as he strode away. Hermione arched an eyebrow._ Peevishness _**and**_ petulance,_ she thought, as her quill scratched the page. _Hardly attractive qualities in such an outwardly handsome a man. No wonder Narcissa divorced him._

**oOo**

Misty worked diligently for a long time, drying each page carefully. She scrubbed the shelves and table at angles awkward even for an elf and replaced each book with the utmost respect. When she was done she padded over to Hermione.

'Are you OK?' Hermione couldn't help herself. It was only a civil question, after all._ What Lucius Petulance Malfoy doesn't know won't hurt him._

'Misty is...tired-' she stopped dead and her periwinkle blue eyes stretched wide in horror. 'Oh!' she wailed. 'Misty is bad elf, BAD ELF!'

Hermione jumped out of her chair to catch Misty as she began banging her head on the polished wooden edge of a bay window seat. The diminutive elf was a lot stronger than she looked. Her persistence earned her a trickle of blood and only then did she stop, sway, and sit down with a thump at Hermione's knee.

Misty eyed Hermione anxiously. Wringing her hands in an obvious show of guilt, her bright, teary eyes slid over to Hermione's broken bag.

'Miss-?' Misty enquired politely. 'Misty wonders...what is those papers?'

Hermione fetched one.

'Misty...you know the rights are protected by law now? I mean, he can't hurt you any more!'

'Shhh!' Misty pleaded desperately. 'Master will be angry!'

Hermione nodded, defeated. She held out a leaflet. Misty hesitated, her fingers trembling but she took it eventually and cast suddenly damp little eyes over the details of the _Rights for House Elves_ meetings. Most were held in private by a third party organiser, usually a Ministry volunteer. They were open to any elf, and by law said elf no longer had to declare details of their attendance to their master. Hermione was willing to bet Misty would find her way to the next one.

She folded the paper carefully and stashed it inside her pillowcase.

'Would Miss like something to eat?' Misty picked herself up. 'Bobbly has prepared a joint of beef for Master's dinner but much of what she cooks is wasted. Master is not often hungry.'

Misty looked like she might cry if Hermione refused but she wanted to cause as few ripples as possible for now. Turning up here and eating his food might be overstepping an invisible mark and what she'd so far gleaned from the book was too valuable to miss for the sake of a sandwich.

'I've bought my own, thank you.'

**oOo**

Lucius stood too close to the fire. Lately he couldn't get warm. His toes were always frozen. His very core seemed to reject all heat except that which could be provided by a very hot bath. He couldn't stay in the bathroom all day, it would arouse suspicion. The last thing he wanted was for Draco to come poking around again trying to _help_. Lucius grimaced at the mirror. He felt weak and headachey. Not at all like himself.

Misty brought his afternoon tea. A pot, a home-baked scone with jam and a smattering of cream. It certainly hadn't escaped his notice that Misty brought his favourites when he was annoyed with her.

As she pushed the silver serving tray carefully onto his desk, a single perfectly white cube of sugar dislodged from her carefully constructed pyramid and broke into three on the Persian rug. It created a starburst of fine sugar dust. Misty bent to pick up the pieces and her folded _Rights for House Elves _leaflet fell out of her pocket. She startled.

She knew better than to imply guilty conduct by grabbing for it like it was a secret so she bent as calmly as she could. She could feel his gaze, heavy and cool on the back of her vulnerable, bare little neck. A single glance at his face was her only cane pinned it with a thud. Misty retracted her fingers, reeling in the knowledge that he'd _almost_ hit her hand.

'What is _this_?' he asked coldly.

Misty shook her head quickly.

_'Nothing_, Master! Misty has just emptied the parlour bin...where she find it. Just an old scrap of paper.'

'Give it to me,' Lucius released his cane and held out his open hand.

Misty picked it up with trembling fingers and put it in his palm. At his hiss of annoyance she snatched it back, chewing her lip in fear and meticulously unfolded it. She presented it back to him, blank side up. He arched an eyebrow in clear irritation and turned it over. His jaw tightened, his lips thinned. His cold eyes chilled.

'What is this doing in my house?' he was so calm but Misty felt as though the oxygen had been vacuumed from the room.

'Misty _sorry_, Master!' she wailed.

'You_ rotten little rat_!' he snarled. 'You _dare_-'

Incandescent with rage, he momentarily lost the ability to insult her and instead raised his cane. There was a thunk, a yelp, the sudden crack of disapparition and a vengeful cry of;

_**'MISTY!'**_

A second _crack_ followed. The study was suddenly empty.

**oOo**

Hermione was actually _comfortable_. The fire warmed her back. The cold Winter morning had given way to a beautiful, if crisp day and the wide library windows afforded her an unrivalled view of the frosty gardens. She was just growing tired enough to warrant a quick break to stretch her eyes and legs when she heard the commotion. She followed the noise to the courtyard below, her nose pressed to the glass. A sheet of paper floated down in front of her. It was smouldering at the edges. She managed to catch _-Rights for House Elves –_ before it extinguished in the gutter and the ink began to bleed in the standing rainwater.

_Oh, bloody hell!_

Misty emerged from the house, tripping and scrambling as Malfoy smacked her roundly about the ear with his cane. He followed her mercilessly onto the crunchy gravel, his face twisted in fury. Hermione ran. _Right,_ down the stairs, _left_, through the big doors. She never went anywhere any more without memorising the route back. It was force of habit from too many years needing to escape people with dark wands and dark minds.

**'MR MALFOY!**' she yelled, as Lucius drew his wand with a grimace and pointed it at his elf.

Misty knelt on the frozen gravel, clutching a bleeding elbow, cowering as though she expected murder. Sudden hope kindled in her face as Hermione whipped her wand free of her back pocket and stepped between them.

'Stop it! What on _Earth_ are you doing?!' Hermione held her hands up in almost-surrender, except that her wand still rested, albeit loosely, between her spread fingers. 'This is _completely_ illegal!'

'How _dare_ you lecture me in my own house!' His lips were pale in his fury, his eyes so piercing she began to worry if he could perform wandless magic just with his gaze.

'But it's _not_ her fault! I was at the library early this morning to drop some leaflets off. I didn't have enough time to take them home and when my bag broke, they went everywhere! Misty must have found one.'

Tiny, warm hands wrapped around her leg. Hermione found her courage in that little reminder that the elf was very much alive.

'Misty pick it up, Master! Misty only clean...make house nice and fresh for the reopening!'

'You expect me to believe that you impudent little_ wretch_!' Lucius snapped.

His wand slashed at the air. Hermione was ready. She deflected his simple stinger with more strength than he expected. His eyebrows went up in surprise.

_So the Gryffindor chit has some ability with a wand. Perhaps a fraction more than expected_, he grudgingly conceded, privately.

'Miss Granger,' he hissed at her, drawing himself up to his full - very imposing - height. 'Kindly step out of the way.'

Misty shrank in terror. Hermione shook her head.

'No. Because this is illegal, and you'd know that if you'd even read the_ Rights for House Elves_. She could report you!'

'_Move!_' he snarled.

'No,' Hermione lifted her chin. 'This is _my_ fault, Mr Malfoy. If you want to hex someone, you can hex me.'

He sighed, irritated.

'I don't wish to hurt you,' he enunciated clearly, as though he was trying to ensure maximum retention. He flicked his wand to the left as if to say, _move_. Hermione stood her ground.

'_No_, Miss!' Misty said finally. 'Misty lives to serve the noble house of Malfoy-'

Misty took two very courageous steps into view and cringed, head bowed, ready for her punishment.

'Don't,' Hermione turned her attention to Lucius. '_Don't_ do this. You can't! She's not even _half_ your size!'

'Turn around, Miss Granger,' he commanded, coldly. 'And _keep_ walking.'

She folded her arms and swallowed her tears.

'No,' she said obstinately. 'I'm going to stand here and watch you. It's not as if I haven't seen worse,' she added the last bitterly.

There was the slightest tremor in his hand. After too long holding a wand at arms length, muscles begin to betray. He'd hesitated too long and he knew it. He lifted his chin, eyes icy. His teeth flashed for a second before he sheathed the wand and snapped;

'Get _out_ of my sight, Misty!'

Misty disapparated with a pop. Hermione lowered her wand. Silence reigned, unbroken. His face was so white he was almost ethereal in his anger.

'I'm sorry,' she tried, 'I just-'

'_Get out_,' he hissed venomously.

She sagged in disappointment. Unable to face returning to the vast library only to taunt herself with unobtainable knowledge, she summoned her things and left. The gate allowed her passage. She apparated to a street in wizarding London, her gut twisting with guilt and sagged against the brickwork, her throat full of tears. The few notes she'd gathered were in her bag. It hurt to think that there was so much more available, now out of reach.

**oOo**

Hermione leaned her backside on the edge of her desk. Lox Labs was little more than a tiny mobile unit on the edge of a Muggle council estate. The tiny office smelled of Hermione's favourite incense, which Gillian had affectionately nicknamed _Tibetan Yak Shite._ Gillian occupied the only office chair, her perfect legs crossed one over the other and her greying hair drawn up into a ponytail. Gillian had been a loyal friend to Hermione, especially after her messy and decidedly public breakup with Ron and by extension, most of the Weasley clan. That made telling her Second-In-Command the news even harder.

'It didn't go well,' Gillian observed. She was almost psychic in her understanding of Hermione.

Hermione wanted to cry. They'd both worked so hard for this, for the squibs and the victims of the Xeoforce curse. Why the Minister couldn't see his way to financing such important research as this, Hermione couldn't begin to guess.

'I fucked it up, Gilly,' Hermione chewed her lip anxiously, hovering on the edge of tears. 'I'm _so_ sorry. He's just...such a bastard to his House Elves!'

Gilly's gaze dropped to the novelty Muggle pen in the pretty Guernsey pottery mug on her desk. It was a pink Emu made of feathers with googly eyes that rattled as you wrote.

'Did you get _anything_?'

'Some,' Hermione nodded. 'But I don't think going back for more is an option.'

Hermione rolled her eyes at her own stupidity and folded her arms protectively.

'He was beating this tiny little elf. The thing can't be a day under a hundred.'

Hermione swallowed back her tears and tried to hide the evidence of a wobbly lip behind her hand.

'I'm not surprised,' Gillian said. 'If his son's anything to go by anyway.'

'You know Draco Malfoy?' Hermione asked in surprise.

Gillian nodded.

'He's Assistant Head of Human Resources. My less than charming other half is his boss.'

'Human, _Resources_?' Hermione's mouth nearly dropped open. 'Firstly, I don't think he qualifies as exactly human, but secondly doesn't that job require an actual interest in the well-being of others?'

Gillian grinned.

'I think he's vying for Minister of Magic, 'Mione. I reckon he'd do just about any job if it meant getting there. That's not important. Give me a couple of days, let Dan call in a favour. Draco might be able to persuade Lucius to let us back in.'

Hermione glanced at her. Then she laughed tearfully.

'God, Gillian, I'm glad I hired you.'

Gillian smirked.

'I'm good for more than data analysis,' she said. 'Speaking of which, Number Seventeen is well and truly dead. Litter included.'

'And?'

'Well. The test revealed the implanted genetic anomaly correctly but Seventeen was just a sack of blood when I opened her up. Massive internal haemorrhage, pups too,' Gillian sat back and snapped her fingers. 'Like bloody water balloons.'

Hermione winced.

'_Crap_,' she whispered.

The Nightshade data had been promising indeed, but despite the success of the early trials at low doses, it seemed that at the level required for the test to work, the rats just couldn't metabolise the poison fast enough.

**oOo**

Draco was curious when he received a request to meet Hermione Granger. A study into the treatment of Squibbery for the victims of the Xeoforce Curse wasn't very high on his list of priorities. He had budgets to finalise, staff to manage and a young wife to impress with his next promotion. On the other hand, Granger still packed some punch with publicity. A Malfoy always made the most of his opportunities.

She looked very different. Her overly skinny frame had filled out a bit, lending her classic curves and a slender waist. It was the sort of waist he liked - somewhere to rest your hand_ and_ something to hold onto. Her once mad hair now fell around her shoulders in lustrous, gentle curls. They might have been charmed in, but he didn't think so. Her caterpillar eyebrows were gone, reduced to thin lines that accentuated her huge brown eyes. She hadn't gone up a cup size, which he was vaguely disappointed to see.

She held herself with a lot more confidence and he was pleased to see that she hadn't reverted to Muggle clothes. She stood in his office in a black skirt, heels and work robes. The ghost of tiredness hung around her eyes. It was probably down to her recent breakup. The Daily Prophet were determined to follow every move the Golden Trio made, even if more than half of the Trio were no longer on speaking terms. Skeeter was obsessed with anything even remotely connected to Potter. Once or twice, it'd been suggested she had a bit of a toy-boy crush.

'Thank you for seeing me, Draco. How are you?' she shook his hand and took the chair he offered.

He was a Malfoy after all, he wouldn't forget his manners.

'Knackered,' his eyebrows arched just like his Father's. 'Scorpius doesn't do bedtime. Barely even does sleep. I hear you and Weasley-' he smiled with less malice than she remembered. 'He was always a brat. I bet he got sick of you having the upper hand at everything except Quidditch.'

She smoothed the sadness that wanted to emerge. The way his family had snubbed her since the breakup was the worst part. She missed Molly more than Ron.

'That's about right,' she said, trying to keep it light.

Draco had grown a couple of inches and filled out.

'I read your last article. In fairness, I did find it...well presented,' he said.

_A compliment? Wow, he really has changed his tune. Perhaps becoming a Dad has changed him?_

'Thank you.'

'I don't think you're here for coffee and a catch-up,' he said then. 'If it's funding, you probably already spoke to the right person and asked the wrong questions. My Father is always looking for a way back into favour.'

There was a certain bitterness in his voice that suggested all was not well between Father and Son.

'Well,' she said nervously. 'Our research had hit a bit of a block and as it happens, your Father owns one of three surviving unabridged copies of a book. One is in Switzerland in the care of an old lady who won't answer our letters and the other went missing ten years ago. We might be able to track it down, but it'd be hard.'

Hermione steeled herself for the confession.

'I was hoping...you might be able to help me get access to the book. I need to make a breakthrough...or the project will be dead in the water by January. I didn't have time to get everything I needed before he asked me to leave.'

'_Told _you, more like,' Draco smirked.

He spoke again before she got chance to defend herself.

'I might be able to persuade him. If you'll credit our participation in the final papers. It helps to be seen to be actively supporting charities.'

'Of course,' she nodded, secret hope rising with relief like a coiled spring inside her.

**oOo**

A curt message arrived on the last day of November, borne by an elegant eagle owl whose bright orange eyes, Hermione found a little disconcerting. She could have sworn it sneered at her before it flapped away to the window, scattering research papers in its wake. It was an invitation to resume her work at Malfoy Manor. She Floo'd Gillian and asked to meet her in the Triwizard Cup just off Diagon Alley, a shady, off-the-beaten-track little pub where it was easy to stay clear of cameras. Success called for a drink, or maybe three.

**oOo**

Gravel crunched her favourite knee-high boots. They were soft black leather with a buckle across the ankle. They left a few inches of black tights bare before her legs disappeared into a simple black skirt. She'd made an effort today, since she was unlikely to get covered in potions ingredients. She felt Malfoy might tolerate her more easily if she didn't look like something coughed out of a Saturday afternoon cinema.

Misty went out of her way to ensure Hermione was as comfortable as possible. She offered endless cups of tea, tended the fire so that it never burned down and even brought Hermione a blanket under the guise that the library could get chilly at times. The happy warmth threatened to send Hermione to sleep on her work. In the end, she sent Misty away as politely as she could with the assurance that there was absolutely nothing else she could do to make Hermione more comfortable. Then she shed the blanket and went to work.

An eerie, unfamiliar call summoned her to the window mid afternoon. An albino peacock preened the first pinfeathers of his magnificent tail on the haunches of a stone lion, a pair of which guarded the entrance to a great, circular garden. At the moment it was little more than a frosty, grassy path through coarse, tangled briars to a lonely stone fountain, devoid of life or movement. In the summer it was probably breathtaking.

The low cloud cover parted in a sudden December breeze. Winter sunshine glinted off the glass-topped table that was hidden behind a stack of chairs under the mezzanine floor. It was covered in a sheet which was tucked tidily under the four feet. A corner had come loose. Hermione crouched in the shadows and whispered; 'Lumos.'

Four desiccated House Elves held up the glass on shrivelled little hands. One of them had fingers missing. Their sunken sockets reminded her of dead birds. The taxidermist hadn't even bothered with glass eyes. They were stitched from groin to throat, slack, foul and shrivelled. Hermione pulled back so sharply that she nearly tripped on the hem of an expensive rug.

'Curious, Miss Granger?' asked Lucius icily.

Hermione spun.

'Oh God, you scared me!' she yelped, clutching her heart.

He nodded to the antique table.

'I'd advise you not to _touch_ anything. The Manor is old and we have quite a few strange pieces.'

His gaze flicked up to her face.

'Draco once brought home several samples of your...work. Your campaign for House Elves, that is. I _must_ say, they amused us all for _quite_ some time.'

She fought not to fold her arms protectively, reminding herself that he was just goading her.

'I don't think there's anything funny about fighting for people's rights,' she said.

'People?' he queried, his lips tilted into a clever smirk.

'Yes,' she said. 'You may not think they qualify as people, but_ I_ do.'

'How quaint. Tell me,' he quirked a smile. 'How goes the campaign?'

'It's been met with some resistance,' she said drily.

'Well,' he smiled, 'I can't say I'm surprised. After all, what would a Muggle-born witch know of such things? Having never owned a house elf yourself, I'm sure you can understand that the grown-ups find your sentiments rather...naive,' he drawled, with false apology.

Hermione smiled and shook her head in disbelief. He gave her a cold smile.

'Good day, Miss Granger.'

**oOo**

Hermione pored over a page of unfamiliar runes, frustrated. The author, _AM Anonymous_, changed rune-systems often, as if to guard the secrets of the book from the uninitiated.

'Still here, Miss Granger?' Lucius drawled from the doorway. 'How determined you are.'

Hermione realised that the sun had gone down and Misty had been into the light the lamps and set charms in the rafters to provide light for reading.

'I'm sorry,' she smiled apologetically. 'I didn't realise.'

'Wouldn't you rather be out hunting the perfect Christmas gifts with Potter and Weasley?' he asked snidely.

'Actually, Ron and I aren't on speaking terms. And right now, this is a _bit_ more important.'

She set down her quill with an edge of frustration. Lucius noticed how pink her cheeks had gone. He crossed the room to gaze down at her research, leaning idly on his cane.

'This is a dusty old book. I don't think it's been touched once since my Father's death. What...may I ask...are you looking for?'

'A rare potion. I found a reference in another book that suggested it might be here, but the rune-systems are heavily encrypted. The worst I've ever seen,' she sighed. 'I've_ got_ to figure it out. Hundreds of people were hit with the Xeoforce Curse during the War. Apparently, Voldemort considered being rendered a Muggle a far worse punishment than death, which is _absolutely_ insane.'

Lucius smirked, a hint of genuine humour in there.

'The Dark Lord was not known for his grip on sanity,' Lucius said. 'It must be distressing, I imagine, to find oneself suddenly devoid of magic.'

'Yes,' she nodded. 'And considering that most of those hit were Muggle-borns through targeted attacks-'

'You consider it your personal crusade to restore balance,' he nodded sarcastically.

'Yes,' she nodded unapologetically. 'I do. And, since Squibbery is on the rise, pre-natal testing could save a lot of heartache.'

He straightened.

'Are you in favour of abortion, Miss Granger?' he quirked an eyebrow at her, his eyes chilly.

She folded her arms, slightly flushed.

'Don't tell me you're a pro-lifer,' she asked with a cold smile.

'That would be contradictory, wouldn't it?' he smirked.

'I think that under particular circumstances, for example, when a genetic condition is likely, or certain, to impact the...child...negatively. It hardly seems fair to bring someone into the world who'll never be accepted.'

Arithmancy wasn't his strong suit but Lucius knew enough to discern the meaning of the equation that stretched the length of three sheets of paper. It was spread out before her, incomplete and unbalanced despite many floating, holographic notes. He frowned lightly at it.

'You identify the genetic marker for Squibbery as a recessive gene, Miss Granger. May I ask...what would you suggest in the case of an arranged marriage, should both parents be found to be carriers?'

Hermione shrugged.

'Well, it'd be really stupid for them to marry, wouldn't it? I wasn't aware you knew anything about genetics Mr Malfoy.'

He cast her a disdainful look.

'I_ do_ read, Miss Granger.'

'It's Muggle science.'

'And?' his eyebrow arched.

Her eyebrows ascended in surprise.

'I doubt you fully understand the ramifications of your proposal, particularly with regards to Pureblood families. Squibbery is a rather...uncomfortable...matter. It's rarely discussed. Most would never consent to genetic profiling out of fear of stigma.'

'Well, when it's for the greater good-' she argued.

'I, for one would be wholly opposed to being reduced to numbers and stored on one of your...Muggle machines,' he sneered the last.

'And if it saved your future children from lifelong ridicule and disadvantage? Would you do it then?' she challenged.

'Thankfully, my days put to stud are over,' he drawled.

'Well...that _hardly_ precludes the chance of love, Mr Malfoy.'

His eyebrows arched.

'Love?' he murmured, his eyes gone wide. 'My, my, Miss Granger. You're a romantic. How touching.'

'I prefer to think of it as being _normal_,' she said, as she began to stuff her papers into her bag. 'Thank you for the use of your book.'

'Where are you going?' he asked. She froze.

'Home, Mr Malfoy.'

'It's much quicker this way,' he gestured her towards the back of the library.

Under the mezzanine floor was a wooden door. It lead onto a dark, stone spiral staircase. Hermione gazed into the dark apprehensively. Lucius drew his wand with a flourish and a wordless _Lumos._

'Shall we?' he gestured.

She could hear her own breathing in the dark. She didn't trust him. She'd_ never_ trust him. She followed down the thirty or so steps, trying to hold her breath to keep calm and the staircase emptied into the drawing room where Bellatrix had tortured her. She knew the smell of the cellar and the shape of the dead hearth.

Terror rose up to claw her resolve to shreds. She faltered, clutching her book bag, trembling. Fear and fury scaled her spine backwards like a mad scorpion under her blouse.

He waited silently on the long, rectangular rug. Triumph danced in his eyes, his lips formed a little smirk that left absolutely no question he intended to torment her. In that instant, she _hated_ him.

'Is something the matter, Miss Granger?' he enquired, innocently.

'No,' she lied, as her eyes filled with tears.

Lucius smiled and stepped closer.

'Let me give you a word of advice, Miss Granger. That which you fear, can be used to control you,' he offered his hand.

She pulled away from him violently.

'Such a proud little Gryffindor,' he sneered. 'Come, come, Miss Granger. After all,' his eyebrow arched and his face split into a grin like a shark. He snapped the last with such bite that she jumped in fright; 'They _are_ only**_ memories!_'**

She pushed past him and ran for the door. His laughter echoed behind her. She cursed at the sky under her breath and hurried down the drive. She'd sooner choke on her tears than cry in front of Lucius Malfoy.

**oOo**

Lucius swirled the wine around his glass and lifted it to his lips. The study door opened with a soft _click_ and he recognised the sound of his sons expensive work shoes on the polished wood. Draco helped himself to a glass of Firewhisky.

'How's Scorpius?' Lucius enquired coolly.

'He's well,' Draco said. 'I wish he'd sleep more.'

Lucius sipped his wine and grimaced. It wasn't the vintage that was upsetting him.

'And I suppose, meeting this possibly fictional Grandson of mine is still out of the question? Honestly. You won't listen to your Father but you'll dance to the tune of that _harpy_.'

'Astoria isn't the problem. It's _Mrs Greengrass_,' he did a passable impression of his Father's trademark sneer.

'I didn't _mean_ Astoria,' Lucius amended. 'She's an odd girl, but decent enough despite her...unsavoury ideology.'

'But_ I_ love her,' Draco said plainly.

'Exactly,' Lucius had been willing to offer that one concession and in so doing, had saved his son the discomfort of an arranged marriage.

Draco sighed at his Father.

'You look a mess. I'm not bringing my son over here to watch you drink yourself to death. He deserves better.'

Lucius gazed at him coldly from behind a curtain of platinum hair.

'Surprising though you may find it, I am capable of restraining myself for _one _evening.'

'It's not about that and you know it. When was the last time you went out, Father?'

Lucius hissed in irritation but the chance of losing this rare contact stopped him from an outright display of temper.

'Recently.'

'When?' Draco persisted.

'A week,' Lucius closed his eyes tightly. 'Two,' he admitted.

'Two?' Draco arched an eyebrow doubtfully.

'Three,' Lucius confessed angrily.

Below the gilded mirror frame was a photo of his younger self, standing under a Chestnut on the estate. Draco set his whisky down with a clink and picked up the photo. Lucius selected a red leaf out of the pile for him. He remembered the day. A chilly Autumn. Draco had managed his first magic not long after.

'Do you remember this?' Draco asked, not looking at his Father. 'You've changed so much. You were happy then.'

Lucius took the photo from his hand and laid it face down on the stone with an angry_ click. _

'It's _gone_, Draco,' Lucius said. 'It's the _past_.'

As soon as the words were out he wanted to take them back. Draco's brow furrowed in pain. He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

Something wrenched in Lucius' gut. Something so old it defied all logic and warped all self control. It took the last shred of his dignity and crushed it.

'Draco, I-'

The study door banged shut. Before the front door followed suit, Lucius knew he'd hurt Draco only to hurt himself.

He buried his hands in his hair and bunched his fists but that sort of pain had ceased to bother him the day the Dark Lord first cast the Cruciatus on him. Lucius sank ungracefully into his favourite chair with his head in his hands and tried to fight his tears.

**oOo**

Hermione stepped out of the Floo into her office. It was upside down, drawers emptied onto the floor, papers gone. She stumbled over her pen-pot and snatched her wand out of her back pocket. Broken glass crunched under her boots as she opened the door to the lab. The unit was in pieces, samples gone, freezers hanging wide open. Gillian lay on her back, head against the cupboards, a thin trickle of blood drying at the corner of her mouth. She was white, her eyes dull like a doll.

'Gillian!' Hermione dropped beside her. 'Oh God, hold on!'

Something displaced all the air in the room. There was a great gasp and a moment of absolute silence – then heat as the furnace ignited.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	2. The Cobra's Strike

**A/N - I've just realised, this will be a teensie bit AU in that I've pretty much ignored the epilogue except for Draco and Astoria. I hope you enjoy all the same ;) Lots more lined up yet. Let me know what you think! Reviews are the only way we writers get any feedback, so go crazy with that lil' button and I'll love you forever :)  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>2. The Cobra's Strike<span>**

Hermione's lashes fluttered like a pair of undecided moths as she woke to the sound of birdsong. Someone had charmed a flock of paper sparrows to flutter around the light fixtures. She was so distressingly weak that she could hardly lift a hand. There was a vase of fresh yellow daisies on the bedside table that reminded her of miniature sunflowers.

Hermione recognised the uniform of the St Mungo's healer, whose short grey hair was drawn up into a tight knot. A long shift had liberated wispy little strands to tickle her face. She made a habit of brushing them back ineffectually.

She began casting spells. Hermione recognised the first few - pain, dehydration, relaxation. The rest were obscure. The healer poured two potions into her mouth and Hermione swallowed. They made her feel queasy. Half her body was swathed in thick, white bandages and her skin felt as dry as crinkly brown paper.

'Awake at last. I'm Lena, Hermione,' she leaned on the railings of Hermione's bed with her wand held lightly between her fingers. 'I'm your healer. Do you know where you are?'

Hermione managed a nod that pulled the skin on her neck tight.

'How are you feeling?' Lena's rich brown eyes carried a hint of real compassion.

'My head...hurts,' She felt like her lungs had been scoured with oven cleaner. 'Water?'

Lena offered her a straw. Hermione had never been so glad to see a glass of water, and never felt such pain drinking one, either.

'What...happened?' Hermione whispered.

Lena gazed down calmly with the air of a woman who'd seen it all before. Hermione found her comforting. She seemed to be the kind of person wholly at peace with herself.

'There was a fire,' Lena's brows furrowed lightly. 'How much do you remember?'

She remembered pain.

'Am I scarred?' Hermione whispered.

'It's too early to say,' Lena shrugged lightly. 'If you are, we'll probably be able to lessen the scarring over time. Your head is a bit more of a worry. You took a falling beam.'

'G-Gillian?' Hermione whispered.

Lena laid a warming hand on an unbandaged bit of arm and rubbed a rhythm established by long years of practise.

'I'm sorry, Hermione.'

Fat, diamond tears shivered from under half closed lids and wet the pristine white pillowcase.

'I know it's small consolation, but she was gone long before the fire.'

'N-No,' Hermione managed to shake her head. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly. 'No.'

Lena stroked Hermione's fringe back gently.

'The funeral is Saturday. I expect you'll want to go. We can have you up and about in no time. Grief takes longer to fix, I'm afraid. I haven't got a potion for that.'

'I know,' Hermione whispered.

'Rest,' Lena advised her. 'You'll need your strength.'

**oOo**

The ward doors swung open.

'Harry!' Hermione cried.

Hermione managed to sit up briefly but her strength soon failed her. The bandages made moving about very awkward. Harry bent over to kiss her temple.

'How are you?' he smiled.

_Crap_, she wanted to say. _Tired, dry, prickly and bored. _

'I _hate_ hospitals, Harry.'

'Bad memories?' he smirked boyishly. She knew he was thinking of tails, whiskers and Polyjuice potion. The doors parted again with a soft hiss.

'Harry, I'm so worried about Crookshanks, nobody's been home in days-'

'Are you nuts?' a familiar voice asked her.

Hermione whipped her head around so fast it hurt.

'Gin?' she squeaked.

Ginny fell on her, a bear hug that rivalled one of Molly's.

'You really think I'd leave him to starve? Oh shit-' Ginny let go quickly. 'Did that hurt?'

'No. I think somebody stuck an anaesthetic in my neck,' Hermione grinned. 'It's so good to see you.'

Ginny gave her another hug just to be sure but then she stood back with her hands on her hips. Hermione could see the Molly-esque rant coming on. She cringed, especially vulnerable because she couldn't simply get out of bed and hide in the loo.

'You're a _bloody idiot,_' Ginny said. 'Why didn't you just call for help?'

Hermione opened her mouth but Ginny cut her off; _'You scared us half to death!'_

'I didn't have time,' Hermione pointed out. 'I Floo'd in. Somebody must've been watching me, to figure out my routine. The lab was already in pieces when I got there. It just happened so fast.'

Ginny deflated a fraction.

'The case came straight to my department,' Harry admitted. 'The Minister wants me to head it personally. He's worried. It's only been two years. Not nearly enough time to round up every Deatheater and sympathiser. It's probably a revenge attack.'

'Those were the strongest wards we could cast , Harry! It took six wands-'

'I know,' he said. 'They still weren't strong enough.'

'Then whoever did this is a very accomplished wizard,' Hermione said. 'Honestly. It's been two years. You'd think by now they'd have the decency to leave us alone!'

'They won't,' Ginny said matter-of-factly. 'People like that don't know what decency is.'

'We'll find them,' Harry promised, honesty glittered alongside anger in his eyes. Hermione believed him. 'I promise.'

'What're you going to do for work?' Ginny asked her quietly.

'I'm _not_ giving up,' Hermione said emphatically. 'I'm so close. It'll take time, but I think I can rebuild the equation.'

'I never understood Arithmancy,' Ginny said. 'How can you tell if a cure works just with numbers?'

Hermione shrugged.

'Well...if you had a big enough blackboard-' she began.

'And maybe a big enough _brain_,' Harry interrupted with a smirk. Hermione ignored him.

'-Just about anything can be predicted by numbers. It's the safest way to discover a cure, and it's saved us a lot of lives so far. We'd have to test on rats for everything otherwise, and I hate doing that.'

'Does Malfoy actually_ talk _to you?' Ginny asked suddenly, as though the very idea was distasteful.

'He's actually pretty hard to shut up,' Hermione smirked. 'Not to mention he's a _complete_ bastard!'

Ginny burst out laughing.

'Like Father like Son,' she cackled.

The ward filled with the sound of barely repressed giggles.

**oOo**

Hermione woke to the crack of sudden apparition.

'Misty?' she said sleepily.

The elf clambered onto the bedside chair and gazed at Hermione.

'Miss is alive!' she breathed. 'Misty was so worried! Is Miss feeling better?'

'Much better.'

'Misty so sorry for Miss' friend,' Misty laid a tiny, warm hand on the back of Hermione's gently. 'Misty understand.'

Hermione found some natural strength in that simple gesture. It'd been such a long time since anyone but Harry or Ginny had really cared. It also further confirmed her convictions that the Elves were as sentient as wizards and should be treated as such.

'Thank you,' Hermione whispered.

Misty twiddled with the corner of her pillowcase. She'd sewn a pocket into the front out of it, from the remains of an old tea-towel. Her stitching was perfect. Hermione could see it had once been blue and white with pictures of teacups and spoons on it. It was filthy now.

'Misty so grateful that you help when Master Lucius get angry,' the elf said.

'Did he hurt you?' Hermione asked quickly. 'After I left that first day? I've never had chance to ask.'

Misty's smile fell away. She shook her head quickly but it wasn't a 'no.' Her lip wobbled and her eyes darted to and fro.

'It's OK,' Hermione said quickly, when she realised Misty was on the verge of distress and probably, self punishment.

'Master Lucius is...ill,' Misty said, with an air of genuine sadness. She fidgeted, then glancing over her shoulder to check the man in question wasn't breathing down her neck, she whispered;

'When Mistress leave, he get sad. He drink, Miss! Misty _try_. But...elf can't help. Not with this. His _heart_ is hurt. Master Draco keep little Grandson, Scorpius, away,' the elf confided.

'Oh. I thought-' Hermione shrugged lightly. 'I didn't know that.'

'Misty must go,' the elf hopped down so quickly that she almost upset the chair. 'If Master knew Misty had come-'

'I won't say a word, I promise.'

'Will Miss be coming back to the Manor?' Misty asked apprehensively.

'Yes,' Hermione nodded.

Misty smiled and disapparated with a _crack_. Hermione watched the spot where she'd stood. Then she pulled her hand back into the warmth of the covers with a smile.

**oOo**

Hermione picked up Crookshanks from Harry's and went home. Her apartment was still and so quiet that even the kettle sounded too loud. Hermione flicked her wand at the Hi-Fi and made a cup of Earl Grey to Vivaldi. A lance of late afternoon sunlight shone through the half pulled drapes. Crookshanks went to sniff about and reacquaint himself with the furniture.

A glance in the hall mirror revealed the damage. It didn't hurt any more but her nerves felt jangled and confused. Memory restoration spells hadn't done much to return the lost minutes of the fire to her but her body was a map of the events. Her forearms had taken the brunt of the explosion. They were hairless and decorated with fine, crinkled lines like delicate, pink tattoos to the elbow. There'd been some talk of using replicated skin from a cadaver but Hermione was uncomfortable wearing someone else. She promised to give it some thought but never intended to.

A single pinkened stripe, the width of a ceiling beam ran from the back of her neck to her hip.

The miniature explosions of overheated testing bottles had left her with cling film lines on her throat. A sparse few tangled across her left cheek like the arms of a confused squid. Lena promised they'd fade with outpatient treatment. Charms could conceal them but they'd probably always pull tight when she smiled.

She sat by the window to watch the sun sink behind the bare, late Autumn trees.

Crookshanks took the cat-flap route outside as though he sensed miaowing at the door wouldn't do any good today. His mistress was in no mood for his tendency to wilfulness. Off he went with his bushy tail crooked like orange question mark. He waddled down the terrace and jumped into the tree he used to get into the next door neighbour's garden.

Hermione had seen pictures of the lab since the fire. It was nothing but a charred box, samples and papers gone, the animals asphyxiated in the smoke. Insurance would cover the building but it'd never be enough to restart the project. Besides, she had no researcher now.

She chose the softest sheets from the airing cupboard to minimise irritation to her super-sensitive skin. She was asleep before her hair settled on the pillow, sinking into a private land where unpredictable memories masqueraded as dreams.

She woke up crying. Ron's absence from the hospital hadn't gone unnoticed, neither had Molly's. It was a hurt she wasn't going to forget easily, not unless she took another bump to the head, anyway.

Hermione apparated to the crematorium in her best work robes and stood behind Gillian's family, unwilling to intrude and wearing enough glamours that her scars no longer showed. The building was a light and breezy affair, almost new and purpose built on the site of an old, decommissioned factory. Its glassy walls let in plenty of sunshine. The radiators blazed but Hermione was still cold. A wicker coffin was borne in by Gillian's Dad and five men Hermione had never met. She fiddled with the hem of her robe, willing her tears down. She didn't want to draw attention to herself by making a scene.

Guilt gnawed under her breastbone. _If I'd been five minutes sooner, would **I** be dead, or would **she** be alive?_

'We're gathered to celebrate the life and mourn the passing of Gillian Arkwright, Daughter, Sister, Mother-' began the celebrant. His pinstripe suit was a nice mix of mournful but elegant, lacking the association with hopelessness of plain black. Hermione thoroughly approved.

Obscured by the brim of a wide, dark blue hat in the corner stood none other than Rita Skeeter. Hermione's hand closed around her wand, deep in her pocket. Fury bubbled up her throat with her tears.

'-Her lively sense of fair play and her boundless compassion for those less fortunate-' he continued, from the front of the packed out hall.

Skeeter raised her chin. Their eyes locked. Hermione could_ feel_ her scrutiny. Skeeters made a face of sympathy but Hermione could tell it was ingenuine. It was all about getting an article. Hermione's eyes filled with tears.

'-Through her endless love for her sons, Charlie and David-' continued the celebrant.

Hermione's hand tightened. She couldn't hear, couldn't think as the curtain pulled gently closed around the coffin.

'-Always loved, never forgotten.'

Hermione turned for the door. She'd never give Skeeter the satisfaction of seeing her break but before she could escape past the elegant, modern fountain and the line-up of funerary flowers and messages from family and friends, Skeeter caught her by the elbow and tugged her away from the crowd. Hermione whipped her wand out of her pocket before Skeeter could speak and hissed, her voice thick with tears;

'Get away from me. I have_ nothing_ to say to you and you've got no business even _being_ here!'

Skeeter pouted and for a moment, Hermione almost believed her false compassion. She noded once as her Quick Quotes Quill scribbled away. Hermione pocketed her wand and fled.

**oOo**

With no lab and no job, Hermione went back to Malfoy Manor on Monday morning, intending to rebuild the Xeoforce equation.

Lucius was in the library, one leg crossed over the other. Hermione could see his expensive calf-skin shoes. His cane was propped against the overstuffed red leather arm. He was reading a thick, leatherbound book about the size of a personal journal. He arched an eyebrow.

'Well, well, Miss Granger,' he drawled, as he turned the page with a whisper soft sound, 'Still standing, I see.'

His gaze flicked up to her. His lips lifted in a sarcastic little smile. 'Then again, I suppose it takes more than a bump to the head and a few burns to keep _you_ down.'

'Still standing, Mr Malfoy,' she agreed lightly.

'I must say, considering the reports in the Daily Prophet, I was expecting gross disfigurement at least.'

'I haven't read it,' Hermione said. 'It's just a bunch of lies.'

'Yes,' he conceded, 'But it can be useful to see which lies are being told and when.'

She set her book bag down by the desk and went to fetch the book. When she returned, Lucius offered her a copy of the Daily Prophet. She unfolded it warily.

While four wizards battled the flames, an Auror dragged a charred, bloodied body out of the lab by her wrists. As she was obscured by medics, the picture cycled again. The paper was dated almost two weeks ago.

_The recent fire at the research lab of Hermione Granger was apparently treated as an opportunity for the Golden Girl to show her Gryffindor colours once again. Granger allegedly ran into the building to pursue a burglar, but for once she didn't glean a seamless victory from her hands-on approach and Harry Potter certainly wasn't around to save the day. Granger is currently in intensive care at St Mungo's, having suffered second degree burns to arms and back, severe smoke inhalation and concussion in the fire that claimed her research into a cure for Squibbery. The jury is out on whether she will be able to restart her project, which received little to no Ministry funding and has relied so far on private donations. Suggestions by Ministry officials in favour of support for Granger have so far fallen on deaf ears; it seems that gold is no longer flowing to these low-priority projects._

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

'That complete..._witch_! Low priority! The woman is absolutely _intolerable_!'

Lucius arched an eyebrow but said nothing. He was thinking of the scandal over his wife which had been made and then kept public by none other than Rita Skeeter. Hermione went on;

'She made up these ridiculous lies about me and Harry. And...me and Viktor Krum. And...actually, me and just about everyone else! Even Ron, and I actually_ dated_ him! She was at Gillian's funeral on Saturday and I swear...I almost hexed her.'

'Wolves will be wolves,' Lucius observed. 'Foolish to expect anything more of them.'

Hermione gestured to the page.

'This isn't even what happened! I Floo'd in and Gillian-' she closed her eyes tightly at the memory and gave up trying to say it out loud. 'There certainly _weren't_ any heroics.'

'It must be a novelty for you, Miss Granger,' Lucius smiled coolly. 'To_ lose_ the fight for once.'

'I've lost plenty of fights, Mr Malfoy,' she said darkly. 'Just not the important ones.'

'If...I remember correctly...you once broke Draco's nose?'

She folded the paper and regarded him levelly. He looked amused.

'He deserved it. He treated me horribly. His favourite term for me was something most civilised people don't even_ think_.'

'Yes,' his eyes fell pointedly to her forearm, 'I expect you still wear the memory.'

'I'm going to be wearing a lot of memories from now on,' Hermione said bitterly.

'We all bear scars, Miss Granger. Some are easier to smooth than others.'

'I'm sure they have something for tattoo's you no longer want,' she made it sound innocent.

His eyebrow went up.

'Indeed,' he nodded. 'Do you really think I'm referring to a bit of ink? Really, Miss Granger. I was often reminded of your intelligence. Now I wonder how you managed to best my son in every class.'

'Maybe he spent too much time looking up insults in the dictionary?' she suggested.

Lucius smirked. This time there was an edge of real amusement in there.

'I see you intend to continue your research,' he said softly. 'Perhaps not the wisest move, is it? _Clearly_, someone wants you silenced.'

'Well, I'm_ not_ the sort of person who shuts up just because other people don't like what I have to say.'

'Tenacious species, aren't you?' he quirked a smirk.

His brows creased softly. His feigned sympathy irritated her.

'What would your parents think?' he tutted gently. 'Endangering yourself for mere...scientific curiosity?'

She bit her cheek to keep from saying everything she wanted to.

'They'd be proud that I'm trying to help someone!'

'How noble.'

'I don't care if it's noble or not,' she sighed. 'It's what's _right_.'

He stood, an eyebrow rising with his movements.

'Naivete suits you, Miss Granger.'

'Thank you,' she faked a smile.

He turned on his heel, scooped up his book and left her. She was grateful. She closed the library doors when she was sure he was gone and retreated to the book. She drew parchment, quill and ink out of her bag, all freshly purchased that morning, since most of her supplies had been incinerated. She enlarged her own Arithmancy text from the depths of her beaded bag and set to work.

She began plotting the outline variables, those things which couldn't be changed by magic, those which could only be disguised. She worked up from there, trying to recall exactly what the Xeoforce equation had looked like before the fire. Her quill stopped _scritching_ when she realised she couldn't remember. It was gone. Her knowledge of Arithmancy was fresh as ever but a vital ingredient was missing.

She spent the rest of the morning combing Malfoy's Arithmancy section, trying to find what she'd forgotten.

**oOo**

By breakfast the next day, Hermione had come to realise that she was, in fact, missing chunks of memory, all from within a short time span; a few months of research. Even if she could acquire funding, there was no way she could complete the research until she found the exact trail she'd taken to her original conclusion. Her feelings told her that the cure was possible, she had to trust that. The evidence was missing from her mind. Before she set off for the Manor, she shrank and packed all the relevant books from her own collection, plus the few photocopies of borrowed research she'd had the good sense to store at home and cast a Weightlessness charm over her trusty beaded bag.

A job offer arrived by Ministry owl. It was a rather sleek but stupid bird. It nearly dropped the envelope in her breakfast cereal and only just managed to make it out of the window without breaking feathers. Hermione incinerated the letter with a savage flick as soon as she read it. _What a cheek_, she thought. In truth she was worried.

She didn't want a boring Ministry desk job, neither did she want to be coerced into Auror training. It should have been obvious that Lackwit would try to recruit her when she was at her lowest but that just made her all the more determined to resist him and to prove that the Xeoforce curse _could_ be cured.

**oOo**

Hermione trod the deep-pile crimson carpet of the second floor hallway. The pale, stone-skinned bust of Rigel Malfoy turned on its base to watch her go by. He looked as though he was smelling something unpleasant. Long before she reached Lucius' office, she could hear the _scritching_ of his quill on fine parchment. She passed the open door. A fire blazed in the broad hearth. Lucius sat behind a pile of neatly stacked paperwork in his shirtsleeves. His jacket hung on the back of the chair. He blew on a signature and flicked his wand to fold the letter into an envelope.

There were reams of paper witness statements and transcribed interrogations. He looked tired. A half empty glass of Brandy was six inches from his fingertips and the decanter itself was nearly empty.

_Surely he hasn't drunk all that_, she thought.

'How I _despise_ these insults to my intelligence, Miss Granger,' he snapped. Hermione jumped. She hadn't realised he was aware of her. His cold eyes travelled up her legs, over her work robes to settle on her face.

'I-I didn't think you had a job-' she clamped down on her runaway tongue.

'I'm amazed that you find it so surprising. This isn't exactly work. More like _blackmail._'

In a fit of temper he snatched a paper off the desk, crumpled it and threw it at the wastepaper bin. A flick of his wand set the contents alight. He sat back, arms folded, seemingly content to let it burn. The firelight danced on his waistcoat buttons and highlighted the silvery thread in his waistcoat.

'_Honestly_,' Hermione took a quick step inside and flicked her wand at the bin. '_Aquamente!_ You'll burn the whole house down!'

He eyed the wet carpet and sighed in annoyance.

'Perhaps a charm that doesn't soak the carpet?' he said coldly.

'Or maybe you could shred them like everyone else,' she folded her arms. 'Have you even slept?'

'No,' his mouth twisted in annoyance. 'Sleep is for the free man. The Minister...believes...that my services in an advisory capacity to a criminal investigation simply _cannot_ wait until morning.'

He arched a brow and threw another paper at the bin.

'It's morning now,' she said despairingly.

'So it is,' he agreed.

Before she'd spied his pink eyes and obvious exhaustion, she'd have said it was poetic justice, forcing him to participate in investigations against other Deatheaters to prove his loyalty. Something inside her went_ pang_ though as he brought his glass to his lips. _It upsets him_.

'I think, on the grounds of human rights alone, you're allowed to sleep,' she said.

He made a derisive noise.

'Do you need some help?' she asked softly.

'Feeling sorry for me, Miss Granger?' he asked, his eyes cold. His lips turned upwards.

'It's called being nice,' she said. 'You _obviously_ don't know how. Besides. You've helped me enough recently. It's only fair.'

He pulled a collection of photos out of an envelope and spread them over the desk.

'Oh my God-' she leaned over. 'That's...cruel! They can't make you look at these. You have to make a complaint. They've _obviously_ never heard of PTSD.'

Lucius exhaled a slow breath. He rose abruptly to seek a refill of his drink. The morning sun caught his hair like a halo. For a second he looked almost ethereal, before he stepped back into the shadows.

'You have to tell someone,' she insisted.

'Who would I tell?' he asked coolly. 'Do you really think the Minister would care if poor, traumatised Lucius Malfoy cried himself to sleep on his...admittedly..._very_ expensive silk pillows?'

'No,' she admitted.

'No indeed,' he nodded.

'But...it obviously isn't doing you any good. Brandy at half past nine in the morning isn't healthy-'

'Please, Miss Granger, spare me. You sound just like Draco.'

'It's why you drink,' she said suddenly. 'This _upsets_ you.'

He arched an eyebrow and slid back into his chair.

'Such an insightful girl,' he set the glass down. 'Believe me, my dear, if I wanted a counsellor, I'd pay for one. Now get _out_.'

'Of my office!' he clarified. The relief on her face almost dragged a smile out of him. _Almost._ 'With a whole library to bother, you come and bother me.'

He flicked his wand at the door. It shut in her face with a _click_.

**oOo**

Hermione gave up reading when a headache morphed into blinding pain behind her eye. Lena had warned her about migraines and cluster headaches but had neglected to mention what they might feel like.

Lights flickered on, persisted a second or two then died in the periphery of her vision. She tried to blink them away but they were unresponsive to even the most vigorous rubbing.

She started to feel sick and cold. She knew by instinct that this wasn't a good sign. The idea of apparating anywhere made her stomach roll over and beg for mercy. The second time she ran to the loo to throw up she sank beside the bowl, too dizzy to move. The pain spread around the right side of her skull until every heartbeat thrust searing pain into her head. It felt like someone was inflating a balloon in her skull. It hurt so much she trembled uncontrollably and practically hugged the toilet for support.

'Misty!' she managed to call.

The house elf apparated with a _crack_ that made Hermione groan in pain. Misty jumped up and down in panic.

'Miss is ill! Misty will fetch Master Lucius right away!'

'No-' she whispered. 'Just a pain draught,_ please._'

'Miss have head injury! It _dangerous_. Misty will fetch Master!' The elf nodded enthusiastically.

Hermione gave up fighting. It took a few minutes. Footsteps halted outside the bathroom door. Hermione leaned her damp forehead on her arm, her eyes squeezed tight against the fabric.

'Miss is inside, Master!'

'Miss Granger?' Lucius leaned into the door.

Hermione wiped her mouth on some toilet paper. She wouldn't be caught dribbling in to the toilet, not for pain, not for the contents of the Malfoy family vault.

'Are you ill?'

'A headache,' Hermione lied. She was fairly sure it was no ordinary headache.

'She must go to hospital' Misty insisted. Her squeaky voice hurt Hermione's head. 'The healer say so...if she have pain in her head, she must go back!'

'Fetch a healer, Misty. Are you decent, Miss Granger? Do you need me to come in?'

'That really _isn't _necessary,' Hermione said quickly, even though she had her doubts.

'I'll be the judge of that, shall I?' he pushed the door. The unmistakeable smell of vomit and bile rose to greet him. He barely wrinkled his nose at all. Hermione flushed pink in embarassment. His lips quirked up.

'That _isn't_ a mere headache, Miss Granger,' he bent to look at her. 'Are you done?'

'I think so,' she nodded carefully.

'I don't think leaving you here will give a very good impression,' he arched an apologetic eyebrow at her. 'Put your arms around my neck.'

'What're you doing?' she mumbled.

'Time is wasting,' he said gently.

She did as he asked.

'Shall we?' he enquired, as he carried her out of the toilet. He was so _warm_. He smelled like fresh laundry and musky, wonderful cologne.

'Hmm,' he mused, as they neared the study. 'Perhaps a few less Butterbeers in future, Miss Granger? You're certainly no featherweight.'

She closed her eyes tightly as they passed the windows.

'God, you're so charming,' she muttered.

She didn't see him smirk. She made a pained little noise when he set her down on the sofa.

'Yes, I know it hurts,' he nodded. There was an edge of genuine sympathy in his voice that surprised her. 'As it happens I have some direct experience with this particular condition. The cruciatus has its side effects.'

He produced a pillow and slid it expertly under her head.

'Do try not to expire,' he said drily. 'At least...until you're off the property.'

'Did you get your work done?' she asked softly.

His mask faltered. He answered in a tone devoid of malice or sarcasm.

'How kind of you to enquire. Yes, actually.'

The fireplace flared green. A be-spectacled St Mungo's emergency response medic stepped out, a trainee in tow.

**oOo**

The healer provided a complex explanation of migraine which narrowed down in her mind to; these will recur. He gave her a quill written, wand-copied pamphlet on food and drinks to be avoided and told her to keep a migraine diary. He equipped her with a handful of phials and sent her home to bed. She left St Mungo's feeling shaky and ill despite the cocktail of painkillers rolling around in her belly. The light was far too bright. She felt like she'd wasted their time.

She apparated home even though it made her want to throw up. Crookshanks purred like a diesel train and rubbed so vigorously against her calves that he almost upset her balance. She crawled into bed, her nose buried in his wild orange fur and tried to sleep.

She didn't wake until the sun came up the next morning. She rose like a zombie and regarded her sallow looking skin and purplish eyes. Only when she'd put a decent breakfast in her belly and swallowed an array of painkillers to fight the remains of the pain did she apparate to the Manor. The glass phials clinked in her bottomless bag. She'd cast a protective charm over them to prevent breaking but she was going to have to find a better way to store them or she'd never walk quietly again.

The aftermath of her migraine hung around her eyes, reminding her with sudden little headache twinges that she wasn't a hundred percent yet.

The gate misted to let her through. She was half way up the drive when a dark figure strolled over the flattened grass. Lucius wore a pair of expensive looking walking boots and a fur-lined cloak. His loose hair was ruffled. His cheeks were pinkened by the chill.

'Still standing, Miss Granger,' he quirked a small smirk as he approached her. 'My, but you _are_ tenacious.'

'Still standing,' she agreed with a smile that was almost genuine.

'I trust you're recovered now?'

'I'm OK,' she nodded. 'I didn't know migraines hurt that much.'

'I find they get a little easier with...experience. Or perhaps one simply becomes accustomed to their unique brand of suffering.'

Hermione shoved her hands into her pockets. His eyes were the same colour as the Winter sky behind him, misted with low, thin clouds as it was.

'Thank you,' she said finally. 'For helping me.'

'You're welcome.'

She smiled a bit uncomfortably. Anxiously, she fingered the opening of her beaded bag. Then considering failure to present her offering to be a sign of weakness unbefitting a Gryffindor, she drew a rather expensive bottle of wine out and offered it to him.

He arched an eyebrow, clearly amused but he took it all the same, his long fingers wrapping gently around the neck.

'A thank you note, is it? I suppose whatever concoction St Mungo's has you taking now would prevent you from enjoying it yourself.'

He turned it so he could see the label. He made a face of approval. A spark of amusement went right through her chest. _Trust him to know his wine_, she thought.

'Very nice,' he nodded. 'You are rather observant, if I'm not mistaken. I happen to have a few bottles of this in my cellar, for dinner parties and such.'

'I noticed you like it. I figured, if the Minister is going to make you look at any more of those horrible photos, you might need it.'

His lips lifted lightly, a little smirk that for once, wasn't entirely cold. The morning sun filtered through his hair, almost igniting it. She was so busy looking at the curve of his mouth that she missed what he said next.

'Sorry?' she asked, suddenly ruffled.

He repeated himself with clean, concise patience as though he hadn't noticed. 'I said, I wanted to be certain we wouldn't have another recurrence. Having a house elf watch you isn't necessary, is it?'

His eyebrow arched elegantly. 'I'm sure Misty would be only too happy.'

Hermione laughed without meaning to.

'Er...yes. I think she would. I really don't understand why you dislike her. She's very sweet.'

'I don't dislike her, Miss Granger.'

'Oh,' Hermione shrugged lightly. 'You just equate _not beating her_ with liking her. I see.'

'She's wilful,' he said, by way of explanation.

'I'd be wilful too if I was in her shoes!' Hermione calmed her tone deliberately. She was still too sick for an argument. 'Or _lack_ thereof.'

'You'd have me present my elves with clothes?' he said snappishly.

She chewed her lip.

'You don't have to_ free_ them, Mr Malfoy. I don't think anyone is expecting miracles. Can't you at _least_ get them something warm to wear? I mean, an old curtain would do it! It's just horrible to watch them living like this.'

Lucius rolled his eyes.

'You have a very soft heart, Miss Granger.'

'I'm quite proud of that, actually.'

He arched an eyebrow and left her there to return to his study via the patio door. Her breath fogged in the cold.

**oOo**

Hermione guiltily perused the silent library. She ran her fingers along the titles. She was supposed to be working but the call of all these books was just too intense a temptation to resist. Thick carpet muffled her footsteps. There wasn't a speck of dust to be seen anywhere. Perhaps the books were charmed to repel dirt and grime. If there was such a spell, Hermione would have happily paid for it for the sake of her own collection.

Under the mezzanine floor, hidden in the dark of a quiet corner was a lonely book shelf devoted to works on Pureblood tradition. _The Nobility of Pureblood Lineage. History of the House Malfoy. Customs of the Elevens Vow. The Bridal Vow and its Safe Use._

She picked up the first. She passed her wand over it cautiously, half expecting it to be cursed. Her diagnostic spell returned no trace of harmful magic so she opened it. It smelled so _old_. It was her favourite smell in the whole world. She took it to the red leather sofa and began to read. The fire crackled behind her.

The author had a gift for words. Hermione was soon hooked. He described, almost poetically, the romantic and ancient traditions of the most common Pureblood houses and the lore and reasons for each. Hermione had no experience of this world. The few snippets she'd gleaned from Ron were nothing next to this storehouse of information.

In the next couple of hours she learned more about Pureblood customs and their unique and extensive code for behaviour, courtship and business than seven years at Hogwarts had taught her.

'Well, well,' drawled Lucius from the door, his eyebrow arched when he saw her choice of reading material.

Hermione started like a guilty first year caught in the restricted section. Lucius plucked the book from her unresisting hands.

'The purpose of the Elevens Vow?' he queried. 'My, my. I was unaware of your interest in Pureblood customs,' he said mildly.

Hermione sat up.

'I was curious,' she admitted.

'Clearly,' he nodded. 'Have you finally found a subject about which you know _nothing_, Miss Granger? I can only imagine what a novelty that must be for you.'

She took his jibe and said nothing.

'Cat got your tongue?' he enquired innocently.

'No,' she said quietly.

'I must say, I imagined your professors would cover such...basic information...at school?'

'I don't think Hogwarts considered this sort of thing to be a vital part of our education. School was more about passing our exams.'

'Information is power, Miss Granger.'

'I wasn't reading it for_ that_ reason,' she said uncomfortably.

'No?' his eyebrow arched. 'Are you _sure_?'

Hermione shook her head.

'I'm not a Slytherin, Mr Malfoy. I don't spend all my time trying to get the upper hand.'

'There's more than enough information in this room to facilitate that, nonetheless,' his pale grey eyes flickered to his collection. He offered her a tight smile.

'Curiosity is hardly a sin,' he added. 'But do remember what happened to cat, won't you?'

He offered her the open book. She took it.

**oOo**

A quiet street waited for Hermione at quarter to Midnight that night. Dinner with Harry and Ginny was a welcome change from the norm and she was celebrating a small fading of her scars, too, following a treatment on her face and neck. When she'd kissed them both goodbye, she walked through backstreet shops and past the odd, glowing restaurant with her coat clutched close. she was more or less alone. It wasn't like Muggle London. The wizarding population was lower and nobody wanted to shop - or work - at such an unholy hour of the night.

An amorous couple passed Hermione by, holding hands. Their giggles and light conversation were snatched away by the wind.

The cobbles upset her balance. Hermione had never been great in heels. She wasn't sure why she'd chosen them for tonight, except that reading that book and spending so much time had made her wonder what it must be like for women like Narcissa. The Nobility of Pureblood Lineage expounded at length the virtues most prized in Pureblood girls. Hermione was sure she had none of them. What constituted a proper lady? She was sure elegant black pencil skirts, tights and heels did, as did charity functions and hair as perfect as magic could make it.

_That book's gotten under your skin_, she thought.

Had Lucius and Narcissa married for love, or money? Was it really heartbreak that had turned Lucius into a bitter, sarcastic drunk, or just crushing disappointment? Hermione could sympathise. Sometimes she still caught herself missing Ron. It'd all been so perfect at first. They'd both taken a late Elevens Vow, which he'd explained was just a promise to stay a virgin until marriage. Now Hermione could see it was more of a magical contract. She resented him all the more for keeping that from her.

Then came the snap. _I can't take you any more Why don't you act like you love me? Well if you were more loveable..._

She missed contact. She missed_ kissing_. It felt so good to have a warm, willing body to hold. Somebody who cared, who'd wait for her to come from work and always be pleased to see her. Sometimes she wondered if she should marry a bottle of Jack Daniels, but she didn't want to end up like Lucius.

Ron never even bothered to write to her or pursue the friendship he'd been so adamant he would after their breakup. That just cut all the more deeply.

Hermione heard a soft footfall from the dark mouth of an alley. The skin of her nape sensitized in warning. She sensed the shadow lunge and pulled her wand in time to spin and stun the grubby little man. He was only a bit taller than she, an ugly little weasel with a goatee and a sparse comb-over. His nearly black eyes were the only part of him that could still move. Hermione backed into the halo cast by a gas lamp streetlight and erected a shield with a flick of her wand.

A twofold hex caught her unaware. The first hex took her shield, the second stunned the feeling from her right leg. She caught her weight on a postbox as she struggled to stay on her feet. A pair of black shoes stepped out of the dark. The leather was dull black, roughened and a little frayed. They hadn't seen a lick of polish in years.

Hermione had worked long and hard to master wordless magic. She'd read that a short leap lay between wordless and wandless incantations and she wanted to master both. The lopsided, burly man with the bad shoes probably expected her to speak in order to cast but she caught him offguard with a hex to the groin before he could stun her. She stunned him as he squirmed on the cobbles like one of her lab rats. A much bigger man grabbed her roughly by the hood of her padded coat and dragged her into the dark space between the shops. Hermione drove her heel into the back of his knee as hard as she could and forced herself upright despite the pain all over her body, to shove her wand into his privates.

_Petrificus Totalus_, she willed.

'Dangerous little shit, aren't you Granger?'

Hermione twisted. The grubby worm stood haloed in street-lamp light, his comb-over a mess.

'Get away from me,' she hissed.

She'd skinned her knees, and probably her backside too, judging by the stinging pain. The feeling came back to her leg.

'_Imperi_-' he breathed, his voice roughened by her last hex.

Hermione closed her eyes and apparated. The world swirled away but before she could get far she realised there was too much drag. A pair of hands squeezed her throat.

_He's trying to strangle me, he must be mad. We'll both splinch. _

Trying to visualise her destination, she thought of the Ministry but at this time of night, it was unlikely that anyone would be around to help. She thought of her flat reflexively but she knew better than to reveal her address. Then her thoughts fell on Malfoy Manor. The world swirled about as the magic re-directed them.

She staggered as she hit the gravel outside the gate and caught herself on the curving hedgerow. She was just feet from the warding. Hermione heard a gasp and spun. The grubby man staggered to his feet, a broad hand clenched over his splinched thigh.

'Who are you!' she levelled her wand at him.

He raised his wand.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	3. Mactoduplex

**A/N - This one has taken me some time. A lot of story and details to get in and only so much space, without compromising the characters relationships. Feedback's always welcome ;)**

* * *

><p><strong><span>3. Mactoduplex<span>**

Her grubby opponent wove two hexes together and fired them as one. Hermione managed to deflect both. They hit the hedgerow and blasted a jagged hole wide enough for her to scramble through. She didn't want to guess where he'd learned that; she'd only seen very powerful wizards do it.

She took refuge behind a marble fountain. An armoured hero pinned a coiled serpent, his spear poised to peirce scaly ribs. The great, circular base was paved around with flagstones and gravel. Rainwater, collected in the little dips and troughs, soaked through her short blue dress and panties. She shivered with fear and cold.

With the wards just feet away she knew she could escape but she didn't want to lose her chance to extract some answers for tonight.

A second volley blasted the head off the statue. It rained hail-stone chunks of marble. A third disembowelled the stone serpent. It snowed stone dust. The grubby man limped gracelessly into the enclosed garden, his broad, knuckly hand clenched ineffectually over the gaping red smile in his thigh.

Hermione twisted over the fountains edge to shoot a darker curse than she'd admit to knowing and ducked out of sight.

'Coming, ready or not,' he grunted.

Lucius was enjoying a glass of very fine wine when his garden lit up with the red and blue flashes of a violent hex battle.

'Misty,' his eyebrows arched.

The elf looked up from her work. She'd been shredding some old papers. Later he'd send her to the bottom of the garden to burn them.

'Somebody's having a duel. In my garden. That _can't_ be Draco.'

Hermione yelled in pain.

_'Granger,_' Lucius set down his glass and snatched up his cane.

Lucius strode to the gate in nothing but his shirtsleeves, slippers and a cloak thrown on as an afterthought. He edged around the gaping hole in the hedgerow. A limping, bleeding man twined two curses together to battle the slip of a girl, whose familiar silhouette flashed up in a blast of destructive red. The grass sparkled with fine marble dust.

They'd _destroyed_ his garden. They'd _decimated _his fountain. He'd _imported_ that.

Hermione – perhaps wisely – made a dash for the wards under a potent shield charm but her opponent ripped it clean away with a single, savage slash of his wand. She staggered into the hedge, her back bared to attack. A second violent swipe cut a deep, red line into her thigh. She yelled and stumbled, clutching the wound closed. Lucius disappeared into a Disillusionment charm.

'Now we're **even**!' the grubby man raised his wand for the final blow.

Hermione forced herself to focus as she reeled from the shock of sudden bloodloss. She felt dizzy. Her thigh felt wrong. The flesh was _hanging_. Her stomach rolled over.

_He's cut me open. _

She blasted the dark man with the worst of her legal arsenal and he staggered back, his face blistered. Lucius jabbed the tip of his wand viciously into his spine, just below the atlas plate.

'Not another move,' Lucius said with false apology, 'Or I'm afraid you'll lose more than blood tonight.'

'Malfoy!' The man exclaimed, his voice full of hope and relief. 'Don't you remember me?'

Lucius was stunned. Hermione could tell by the way his breathing hitched. She cast a swift, powerful healing charm at her thigh that stopped most of the bleeding but she'd need more than her own magic to close her flesh.

'Come on, old friend,' the grubby man wheedled. 'We can share her. You can have her first.'

'A tempting offer,' Lucius nodded coolly.

Hermione swallowed back vomit.

'Would you care to tell me what you're doing in my garden?'

'What do_ you_ think, Malfoy?'

'I _think_,' Lucius said mildly, his lips turning upward. '_Legillimens!'_

The grubby man yelled as his body seized in a grotesquely painful way as Lucius forced his mind.

'What're you doing!' Hermione yelled.

'His name is John Carrigan,' Lucius summoned his fallen wand and pocketed it. 'He was a Deatheater.'

He cast a full Body Bind. Carrigan pitched forward onto the grass.

'Mr Malfoy, that's...' she trailed off. _Not illegal_, she thought, _but bloody ill-advised!_

'Now, now, shelve your soft heart, Miss Granger. He and his...associates...were sent to kill you.'

Lucius toed Carrigan onto his back and knelt over his prone body. He repeated with precise, compassionless efficiency; _'Legillimens.'_

Carrigan mewled and twitched wildly as Lucius searched the corners of his mind.

'Thank you,' Lucius bent down. 'You've been most helpful. _Obliviate_.'

A single, savage movement dislocated Carrigan's jaw noisily. He screamed wordlessly and bucked against the Body Bind, suddenly blank as to exactly who had interrogated his mind. It'd be some time before he could speak about his mishandling.

'Misty,' he snapped to the dark garden. The elf padded out of the dark, her footfalls soft on the wet stone. 'Summon the Aurors, and a healer for Miss Granger. See to him.'

Misty grabbed Carrigan by the wrist and disapparated with a crack.

Hermione clutched her thigh. Her ankle was wet with blood and growing cold.

'They could send you back to prison for that!'

Lucius arched an eyebrow as he tugged his cloak off and knelt at her knees.

'I believe I'm entitled to defend my home. He was trespassing. For all I know he could have intended to steal my more...priceless...posessions.'

He pried her hands off the cut.

'Let me _see_, Miss Granger!' he insisted.

He hissed through his teeth at the sight of the bloody gash and put the tip of his wand so close that she thought he would jab it into the muscle. Warmth wrapped around her thigh and the pain eased. He unfolded his cloak. At first she thought he was going to wrap it around her but he denied her that comfort.

'Keep _still_,' he emphasised. He tied his cloak around her thigh so tightly that she groaned as the flesh shifted about. The ground undulated. She thought she might pass out. Cool, sticky fingers closed on her wrist.

'N-!' she didn't even finish before side-along apparition snatched her into a swirl of sickening colour.

She landed with a thump on the study floor with her forehead against his chest.

'I'm going to be sick!' she cried. She snatched the wastepaper bin and threw up.

'Easy, Miss Granger,' Lucius held her hair back. 'Easy,' he said gently.

'Sorry,' she murmured.

'I'm glad it was only in the bin,' he arched a brow.

Hermione wanted to scrub her teeth. A cold sweat glistened on her forehead and throat.

'Bobbly!' Lucius commanded. 'A blanket, quickly.'

Hermione clutched the bin.

'I thought the Ministry stopped you using magic-' she whispered.

'I can do whatever I like inside the outer warding,' he took the blanket from Bobbly's arms and wrapped it hastily around her.

'I'm freezing,' Hermione whispered.

'I'm hardly surprise considering your attire,' he arched a brow as he transfigured the blanket into a duvet.

'I was out with friends!' she trembled uncontrollably. 'I didn't expect to go crawling around the garden tonight!'

She closed her eyes against her forearm and tried to breathe deeply.

'Miss Granger!' he shook her, hard. 'Don't go to sleep. Look at me.'

'I'm not...I'm just...resting my eyes.'

He snatched up his wand and brandished it threateningly.

'You have my word I'll douse you in freezing water! I quite like my liberty. If you die on my floor, chances are I won't keep it long.'

'Trust you to worry about your own skin,' she murmured. She didn't mean it. She was so, so cold. He gave her a shake when she closed her eyes again.

'Stop it!' she pleaded.

'Look at me!' he demanded. His eyebrow arched and he went on more gently. 'You're going into shock. Look at me. Don't close your eyes.'

The fireplace flared green to admit - along with a cloud of soot - two St Mungo's emergency response medics and two Aurors. One was tall with cropped, auburn hair and the other was short and slim with almost no bust at all, her hair short and dyed bright red.

'Emergency means, come with _haste_,' Lucius snapped.

The healers swooped in to pick up Hermione. They enlarged a gurney from their bag of tricks and cast a series of containment spells. The older of the two began to cut the cloak and clothes off her legs.

The taller Auror approached Lucius.

'Mr Malfoy. Your elf brought a splinched man to our custody. Do you know him?'

'As a matter of fact, I do,' Lucius smiled coolly. 'He was one of the Dark Lord's more...avid...followers. John Carrigan. He attacked Miss Granger.'

'Any particular reason his jaw's broken in three places?'

'I'm afraid he fell,' Lucius arched a brow. 'Naturally, finding him on my property at this time of night was...distressing...to say the least. I assumed, judging by the state of Miss Granger at the time, that I should subdue him.'

Hermione groaned. Lucius tutted sympathetically.

'Poor girl.'

'Put a screen up if you're going to treat her there!' the Auror snapped at the medics. 'Any witnesses to this event, Mr Malfoy?'

'My elf,' Lucius said mildly. 'And my gatekeeper, no doubt.'

The tall Auror nodded.

'You got that, Hex?' she asked the shorter. red-haired witch, who had been scribbling away in silence.

'Mmm-hmm,' Hex nodded.

'Good. Potter will be wanting statements from all of you, Mr Malfoy.'

**oOo**

It took a few layers of wand-stitching and a couple of potions applied directly to the wound. The trainee fired a neat line of gritty, wiry external stitches from the tip of his wand.

'All done,' he smiled at her a bit anxiously. He was young, probably an apprentice. 'Keep your weight off it. Should close in two or three days. It wasn't too deep. We'll leave you with some Deep Healing Draught anyway. Should do the trick. The stitches will pop out when their work is done, OK?'

Hermione nodded. He uncorked a phial and handed it to her.

'Blood Regeneration Potion,' he said reassuringly. Hermione drank it down despite its foul, metallic taste.

They levitated her onto the sofa and passed her the quilt to cover herself, then took down the forcefield shield and shrank the gurney. They disappeared into a blaze of green flames. The tallest Auror transfigured a folding chair from a coaster and sat down close to Hermione. Her eyes were an unusual shade of green. She erected a privacy shield with a swish of her wand.

'Miss Granger. I'm Madeleine. This is Hex. I'm working for Potter on your case. Can you tell us what happened tonight? In your own words,' Madeleine added pointedly.

**oOo**

Misty came to Hermione's side, anxious to be of help.

'Can Misty fetch another blanket, or a pillow? Something to eat? Or drink? Will Miss be staying tonight? Misty can make up the guest room-'

Hermione smiled reflexively despite her exhaustion.

'A cup of tea?' she suggested.

'Right away, Miss!' Misty squeaked happily.

Lucius poured himself a large glass of whisky and enquired sarcastically, when Misty returned with tea and biscuits;

'Are you quite sure you're comfortable _enough_, Miss Granger?'

Hermione hid a smile. 'I'm fine now, Misty. Thank you.'

Misty gazed at her feet, a little smile of pure happiness on her lips. Nobody _ever _thanked her. She was coming to like Hermione more and more.

Lucius gestured to the quilt.

'You have a way of getting yourself into the most unladylike situations.'

Misty had already taken her clothes to be mended, despite Hermione's insistence that they might as well be burned.

'I have spare clothes in my bag,' she informed him. 'It's a habit I got into when...well. When I was moving from place to place a lot.'

She glanced around and realised her extended beaded bag was missing.

'Oh! Misty find it!' the elf piped up, delighted to perform even the smallest service for her new favourite human. She disapparated.

Lucius tutted mildly.

'What _would _people think if they knew you're in and out of this house more often than Draco?'

'They'd probably think I'm the cleaner,' she quipped a bit uncomfortably.

'The cleaner takes the mess _out_, Miss Granger.'

She folded her arms.

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come here. It was an accident.'

'How considerate of you,' he nodded. 'First, you bring a convicted Deatheater to my door and then, when there's little I can do to minimise the damage done to my already...precarious...social position, you apologise! If apologies were currency, Miss Granger-'

'_If_ they were currency,' she glared at him, 'You could make a few yourself and get even richer!'

'Touche,' he smirked.

Silence reigned for a few minutes. It wasn't exactly companionable but there was a surprising ease to it. Misty returned with a pop and handed Hermione her soaking bag with a grimace of apology.

'It's OK, Misty,' Hermione said, before the elf could self mutilate for her failure. Hermione cast the strongest drying charm she knew. The bag stopped dripping. 'Thank Merlin I applied a waterproofing charm to this.'

'How industrious you are,' Lucius observed.

'I just like to stay prepared,' she said, as she tugged a pink sweater, Muggle jeans and a fitted T-shirt out of the depths.

'Folded too,' his eyebrow arched. 'Miss Granger. It isn't recommended for the recently injured to apparate far, or to Floo. Imagine the trouble I'd be in with Mr Potter if I let you go home in this state.'

'Yes, yes!' Misty piped up suddenly. 'Miss cannot possibly apparate in her condition!'

'We do have a guest room,' he suggested mildly. 'If you'd like to make use of it.'

Her eyebrows went up. He gazed back with heavy lidded eyes and pointed out;

'You'll find a _lock_ on the door,' his implication hung thick in the air. She wasn't sure if he prodding at her, or himself.

'That's nice of you but I have to feed my cat.'

'Oh, Misty will gladly feed Miss' pussycat, if she wishes it! Miss should not be alone after losing so much blood.'

Misty wrung her little hands in genuine concern and finally, Hermione relented.

'OK.'

Misty smiled triuphantly and disapparated with a crack. Hermione sighed, fishing about in her bag to see if she'd remembered to pack a toothbrush.

Lucius stood. 'Shall we?'

She swallowed nervously. She eased herself off the sofa, clutching the duvet. They'd stripped everything but her panties off her and those were soaked in blood and rainwater. She winced as she tried to stand up and took his offered arm. She closed her eyes tightly.

_'Please_ don't apparate.'

'Whyever not?'

'I don't want to be sick again.'

His lips thinned.

'_Fine.'_

'No!' she squeaked, when he reached for his wand. 'Absolutely not. I _hate_ being levitated!'

'Miss Granger,' he said tightly, 'Is it really so hard to trust me with such a simple task?'

'I hate flying. I'll walk.'

He scooped her up. She managed not to hiss in pain and wound her arms around his neck for fear he'd drop her.

'_Do_ try to relax,' he suggested, a tinge of humour at the edge of his tone. 'I think I can make it up the stairs, despite your not inconsiderable weight. Perhaps a few less Butterbeers in future?'

She flushed.

'It's muscle, thank you very much.'

'Of _course_ it is.'

He was warm. He didn't seem to struggle with her but then again, he was the kind of man who'd probably do just about anything to save face. Arriving at her room puffing and panting wouldn't become him. Though it'd give her a laugh. He'd probably cast a surreptitious Weightlessness charm over her. He smelled amazing, like fresh laundry, skin and aftershave.

_Enough of that,_ she thought, when she realised what was going through her head. _Tall, blond and handsome does not equal a wise choice despite the fact he did actually save my life tonight. _

He toed the door of the guest suite open and deposited her on the bed.

'I trust you can manage your own clothes,' he said drily.

'Absolutely,' she said quickly. She'd wand-cut her panties off if she had to.

'Good. If you'll excuse me I need to go and apply a painkiller to my back.'

Hermione gaped. Then her face darkened.

'Wow, you're just so charming. Are you seriously trying to tell me you don't have an extra inch. Or three.'

He arched a brow.

'It's muscle.'

'Of course it is,' she agreed, falsely.

He shut the door behind him.

**oOo**

Hermione woke in a king-sized four poster. Her leg ached dully. She was laying on Egyptian cotton so fine that it warranted a caress, in an opulent room befitting royalty. Desperate for the loo, she managed to limp to the en suite which lent new meaning to decadence. Every step hurt like her thigh muscle was tearing in two. She gave up trying to dress herself and resorted to magic. She transfigured her jeans into loose fitting jogging bottoms and wriggled into them with the aid of magic. She made it downstairs by holding onto every available surface.

Lucius was in his office, his platinum head just visible behind a stack of papers. He heard her coming, either by her laboured breaths or her shuffling steps.

'Miss Granger,' he said cordially, 'I wonder if you understand the meaning of the term _bedrest_.'

'I'm not staying in bed all day. Besides, I really need some breakfast.'

He finally looked up. 'That's what House Elves are for.'

She arched an eyebrow in a passable impression of Severus Snape. He sighed.

'Go back to bed.'

'I'm OK,' She assured him. 'I just can't move very fast.'

He shrugged lightly.

'Very well. Don't come crying when you rip your stitches. Mr Potter has been in touch,' he rifled through some papers and handed her a folded report. 'You'll find his results quite interesting, I think.'

He handed them to her.

'Oh my God! I knew it!' she quoted; '_"Traces of potion-form Mactoduplex in blood post mortem. Suspect, Carrigan, John,__ died at 8:37 am from suspected withdrawal, having escaped a full body bind no less than...five times."'_

She stopped. Lucius lay his quill down and regarded her.

'Mactoduplex,' she repeated softly. 'Oh my God...that's actually quite clever. That's why Carrigan was so powerful! In just the right doses it doubles the caster's magic but causes extreme addiction... take too much and-'

'You become a Squib, Miss Granger.'

'Yes,' she nodded. 'But to brew it you need the blood of a living Unicorn! That's not exactly easy. Only a virgin can do it, and only at a certain time! And then you need to keep it fresh long enough to use it. Unicorn blood spoils fast. Where on Earth would you find a Unicorn? There are only a few herds in the whole country! Most of them are tracked magically...'

'Gold, I imagine. It opens many doors.'

'If someone is brewing Mactoduplex...I'd say it's pretty obvious that they'd have a good reason to want me dead. I was on the verge of discovering how to undo their curse. I've got to go and tell Harry,' Hermione limped towards the door.

**oOo**

Hermione had trouble getting down low enough to use the Floo but with a bit of creative wriggling, a chair and Misty's help, she got close enough to stick her head in the flames and speak to Harry, who neatly confirmed her suspicions.

'They almost killed me, Harry. If Malfoy hadn't stepped in-' she stopped.

'I know,' Harry nodded, kneeling by the fireplace. 'How's your leg?'

'Just awkward, really. Thank Merlin for pain potions, Harry. What are we going to do?'

'Just lay low for now,' he said after a moment. 'We'll set a watch on your flat, just in case. I've got three Auror's on the case. We're trying to turn up some likely identities. It'd be easier if Carrigan was alive.'

Hermione nodded. 'I know.' Her leg gave a warning spasm. She didn't want to rip her stitches. 'I've got to go, Harry.'

**oOo**

She apparated with Lucius to a third floor in a room aptly named the Morning Room for breakfast. It faced the sunrise. Light wallpaper in a shade of pastel blue and a plain, though expensive carpet added to its appeal. It wasn't dingy like the ballroom or the study. It was long enough to seat ten people at a table. A chaise and footstool faced out over a frozen pond. the clear, high window afforded an excellent view of the rolling fields beyond the Manor. Hermione liked it instantly. It was small enough to be cosy.

A painting hung on the wall above the fireplace. He was obviously charmed into silence because when he opened his mouth, no sound came out. A nagging feeling suggested he was a recent ancestor. His platinum hair was even longer than Lucius' but his eyes were far, far colder.

A round of potions took the pain but Hermione was still very aware of how the muscle pulled and tugged when she moved. She didn't want to rip it open and be forced into another hospital visit.

Lucius folded his copy of the Daily Prophet away when Misty delivered his boiled egg. He buttered a piece of toast in silence. Misty provided Hermione with scrambled egg, freshly squeezed orange juice and a huge pot of expensive coffee that she'd never, ever buy at home. It soon became apparent that Lucius enjoyed his coffee. He finished off two cups before she broke the silence.

'Who is that?' Hermione gestured to the painting.

'That,' Lucius arched a brow, 'Is my Father. Abraxas.'

'I thought so,' she nodded. 'You look alike.'

'Well, I sincerely hope that I only inherited his looks. His manner was less than charming, Miss Granger. He despised children and he was an avid supporter of the Dark Lord.'

She opened her mouth to ask him if that was why he became a Deatheater. She closed it again quickly.

'I can hear you thinking,' Lucius said. 'Are you afraid of me, Miss Granger?'

'No,' she lied. She shrugged lightly. 'I'm just not going to pry.'

'You _clearly _want to.'

She sipped her coffee.

'Is he...the reason you became a Deatheater?'

'No,' Lucius' lips tilted up humourlessly. 'Draco is the reason I became a Deatheater. Can you imagine what the Dark Lord would have done...to all of us...had I refused to raise a wand for his cause? I was simply protecting my son.'

'You couldn't say _no_ to Voldemort?' she asked carefully.

'Do you imagine the Dark Lord was easily refused?'

'No,' she admitted softly.

'No, indeed. My Father saw to it that the Malfoy heir would be expected to serve,' he said bitterly. 'Which is why I keep him in here. This was Narcissa's reading room. They hated each other.'

'You can't expect me to believe that everything you did for...Voldemort...was to protect Draco.'

'I'm many things Miss Granger but an idiot is not one of them. Why on Earth would I endanger myself, and my son, for a madman? I'm afraid the Dark Lord had a more...intimate hold...on this family than you think.'

'He threatened Draco.'

'He did more than threaten,' Lucius said coldly. 'You couldn't _possibly_ understand.'

Hermione tugged her sleeve up and turned her arm over. The scar was still visible through the burns.

'You stood by while _she_ did _this_.'

'A scar?' Lucius smirked coldly. 'Is that the worst of your injuries? How I _**pity you**_,' he spat. 'My deranged sister would have gladly skinned you _shred_ by _shred_ and left you in a bucket to _die_. This-' he grabbed her arm. 'Is nothing. Be thankful it wasn't a whole sentence!'

'_Nothing,_' she breathed. 'She tortured me. Right under your nose!'

'You poor thing,' he tutted, sympathetically. It was fake. 'Twenty minutes under the Cruciatus? Do you know who took Draco's punishment when he failed to kill Dumbledore?'

'No-'

'_**I did**_!' he snapped. 'It was a good deal more than twenty minutes, I promise you. You know _nothing_ of pain. Would you like me to educate you?'

'No,' she wrestled with the fear in her voice.

He tugged her closer. Her thigh burned.

'No, indeed,' his frozen gaze passed over her burns. 'Pissing yourself and passing out on my floor does not entitle you to martyrdom.'

Hermione collapsed into the chair with a hiss of pain when he released her. She tugged her sleeve down, flushed. His eyes narrowed suddenly.

'Your scar is a dragon,' he said, more calmly.

She covered her cheek with her hand. Much later, at home, she took a closer look. At first she couldn't see it, then the coiled tail jumped out, over her jugular vein. Suddenly she saw it. A winding body with delicate legs, almost shimmery with the shinyness of a healed burn, up to an open mouth. There was even the hint of an eye. She touched it lightly. It was actually, accidentally...quite pretty.

**oOo**

Hermione ran herself a hot bath and settled in, her leg sealed by an unbreakable bubble to keep her dressings dry. A few days had passed since her last, tense meeting with Malfoy. The potions had done their work. Her leg no longer itched like mad and she could walk a few hundred yards without yelping.

Crookshanks used the catflap for his nightly mouse patrol. She'd washed her hair and charmed some conditioner into it when something tingled along her spine. She had the sudden, unpleasant feeling that something was _wrong_. The water sloshed gently as she reached for her wand and brought it into the tub with her. Then her wards gave a great shudder as someone apparated into the living room.

She held her breath, her heartbeat so loud she wondered if they'd hear it. The doorknob turned. The bathroom door swung open and a bespectacled man with short-cropped hair brought his wand around. He pointed it at her heart.

'_Stupefy_!' she yelled, reflexively.

She sloshed water everywhere as she clambered out of the tub and snatched her bath robe off the chair. A second invader stumbled over the first, who lay stiff as a log on the hall carpet. She hung in stalemate, her wand and eyes locked with his. She clutched her robe shut. She could hear water dripping off her hair.

'_Incen-_' he began.

Her front door caved inwards. His wand flew out of his hand and rattled to a stop under the bath. Harry appeared, the tip of his wand pressed to the mans brain stem.

'Don't move _anything_,' he said.

'Harry!'

It was then she realised that her house was packed with Aurors. Madeleine stepped over the fallen man as Hermione wrapped a towel around her shoulders. Hex was close behind.

'Come with us,' she gestured. Hermione grabbed her beaded bag and coat on her way to the Floo.

Madeleine showed her to a Ministry bathroom where she hastily wand-dried her clothes, then they took her to a little room where a Quick Quotes Quill took down everything they said.

'Did you recognise either of them?' Madeleine asked.

'No.'

'I'd bet money this is connected to a certain Mr Carrigan. They seem to have a propensity for fire, this group.'

Hermione pushed back tears and nodded.

'Your house isn't safe any longer. We'll get you moved tonight. Do you have any enemies, Miss Granger?'

'Only every Deatheater still standing,' Hermione arched an eyebrow in an expression Lucius Malfoy would have laughed to see. 'And anyone connected to the War or Voldemort. Or Harry.'

Madeleine nodded.

'Don't tell anyone where you're staying. If you remember anything pertinent that might prove useful, I want to hear it.'

Hermione nodded.

**oOo**

Grimmauld Place was as foul, dark and spooky as she remembered. Hermione stood alone in the dusty hallway where they'd seen the shade of Dumbledore that had shaken them all so badly, they'd slept together in one room. The house was silent now but for a single, distant bump that reminded her this was Kreacher's domain.

She took a few brave steps inside.

_Not only do I have no lab and no home to call my own, I have to put up with that foul, Muggle hating House Elf. __Great._

She built a fire with her wand. Kreacher wandered in some time later, carrying her dinner. He didn't look particularly impressed - or surprised - to see her.

'Kreacher,' she acknowledged him.

'Miss,' he bowed. It was anything but welcoming. 'Kreacher has received his instructions from Master Potter. Kreacher will..._obey,_' he looked like he might choke on the word. He bowed, his face sour. 'If there's nothing else, Miss?'

At her shake, he dispparated with a _crack_ that sounded angry.

**oOo**

The book simply sat there waiting. For once, Lucius wasn't aggravated by the untidyness of an item left out. When she came back, she wasn't limping so heavily and her burns had either faded with further treatment, or she was wearing complex glamours.

'Miss Granger,' Lucius nodded.

'Mr Malfoy,' she said tightly. She hadn't forgotten their last altercation. 'I hope you don't mind.'

'Mind?' he queried. 'The Manor is big enough that I don't need to mind.'

'It's Saturday.'

'I don't exactly have a busy social calendar.'

'Aren't you allowed to go out?'

'Not without a chaperone,' he sneered at the idea; 'Which I _certainly_ won't consent to.'

She retreated to her table where she spent most of the morning trying to piece together what she could recall of her research. The Xeoforce equation was still missing from her mind but she'd found a useful Arithmancy text in the Malfoy library. She pored over it whenever she needed to take a break from translating the ancient runes that would hopefully, yield the answer. If she could just remember her own hypothesis, it'd be a start.

**OOo**

'Ah,' Lucius said, from a nearby shelf when he heard her sniffling.

Hermione jumped in shock and swiped at her eyes.

'I didn't know you were there!'

'Clearly. _Do_ try not to drip all over that book.'

She sighed.

'Is that all you care about, your bloody book? The normal reaction when someone cries is to offer them a cup of tea. Or at least leave them alone to get on with it!'

He arched a brow.

'Would you like a cup of tea, Miss Granger?'

'No,' she said despairingly. 'Thank you.'

'I had no idea ancient runes upset you so.'

'It's _not_ the runes,' she said snappishly. '_God_. Are you always so austere? I've worked for months for this and...one bang to the head and it's all gone!'

'Gone?'

'Yes!' she closed her eyes. 'Gone! My equation. I can't remember it. How am I supposed to find a cure if I can't remember my own work?'

'I assume you've tried retracing your steps?' he descended the spiral staircase with the soft click of heeled boots and cane.

'Yes,' she nodded. 'I just come against a blank.'

'Well. Perhaps you haven't retraced them _correctly_.'

**oOo**

Hermione sat on a conjured chair in her storage locker where she kept her receipts and tax returns. She was rifling through the records of every book she'd bought recently and making wand-copies of any she thought might be relevant. Whatever was missing from her mind, she was willing to bet it wasn't missing from her papertrail. She replaced them all meticulously in the right folders and handed the key in at the desk. She apparated to Grimmauld Place to put them together. It wasn't until much later that she realised the key might be easier and cheaper to acquire than she'd imagined.

Sunday afternoon saw her back at the Manor, though this time she knocked on the front door for fear of intruding. Misty answered it.

'Is he home?' Hermione asked anxiously.

'Yes, Miss. But Master is-' she swallowed nervously. 'Not feeling well.'

'Can I sneak into the library? I'll be really quiet, I promise.'

'Master Lucius will sleep soon,' Misty nodded sagely. 'Please come in, Miss.'

Hermione crept into the library and buried herself in the Arithmancy section, balanced high on a wooden ladder. She fished out the book she wanted and set to work.

'Misty...can you find me all references to ragwort? I think it's what I've forgotten...a stabiliser-'

'Of course, Miss!'

Hermione nearly squealed when she ran the equation again. This time, the block dissipated to reveal the high probability that the potion would not only remain stable but could potentially reveal the presence of the recessive gene. She needed to test it. If it worked, gone were the days of Nightshade and unlucky rats.

She put everything back as the sun went down and crept toward the stairs. She heard the clink of a glass.

'Master should lie down,' Misty cajoled patiently. 'Let Misty do that, Master, please-'

'I'm _fine,_ you irritating little-' he stopped when Hermione tiptoed past the door. 'Miss Granger,' he nodded coolly. 'I thought I heard a mouse in the library.'

She peered inside. Two empty bottle sat side by side on the desk. The third was half full. He was holding a glass. The evidence of yet another of the Ministers investigations was spread around the desk. She stepped inside resignedly.

'Please, tell me you haven't drunk all that today.'

'Are you worried for me, Miss Granger? How touching.'

'It's not very healthy, is it-?' she stopped dead when she saw the photo pinned on the window with a magical tack. She strode over to it and snatched it down then biting her lip, she turned it over swiftly and tried to steady her breath.

'You've got to put a stop to this. This isn't fair!'

'Life became fair?' he said coldly. 'Call the daily Daily Prophet immediately.'

Hermione shook her head.

'You need help. If not with the fact you're pickling yourself, then with all this,' she gestured to the room. 'Can't you get an assistant or something?'

She bit her lip. 'I know why it upsets you so much,' she ploughed on. 'He looks like Draco. It _isn't._'

'It could have been!' he hissed, suddenly a bit too close for comfort. She could smell the wine on his breath. 'It _could be_. He barely speaks to me. How am I supposed to know if he's safe?'

Real fear crossed his face. It shocked her to the core.

'Well, there's got to be ways to find out that don't involve pickling yourself with guilt or...pain...or whatever it is you're feeling over him. Can't you hire a private investigator or something?'

Realisation crossed his eyes. His lips turned upwards.

'Why Miss Granger. You do have a touch of the Slytherin in you.'

She shrugged.

'It's not hard, I just imagine I'm you.'

He snorted ungracefully. She reached into her beaded bag and drew out a clear baggie of chocolate brownies.

'I thought...you might like chocolate. I bake them every year. A kind of...pre-Christmas pressie for anyone brave enough to try my cooking. To say thanks for indulging me, even at the weekend.'

He picked up the bag, his eyes full of surprise and suddenly, a flicker of hope. He set his glass down.

'Just...don't drink yourself to death.'

He arched an eyebrow, then he glanced at the bag.

'Perhaps I can manage that if you'll enlighten me as to how I get into this contraption.'

She reached over and pulled the ribbon for him. The bag rustled as he fished for a cake.

With a raised eyebrow he bit it. Something in his face changed. He licked his lips and suddenly she realised that not only was he flesh and blood, he had vices and favourites. He was actually quite handsome, in his way.

'I take it you do like chocolate,' she smirked.

He was far too polite to talk until he'd swallowed it, but the fact he did Hermione found very encouraging.

'You baked these?' he looked down a bit doubtfully. 'I was under the impression you were no fan of cooking.'

Hermione folded her arms.

'Are _you_?' she said doubtfully. Her gaze flicked from his dragonhide boots to his perfect hair. She couldn't imagine him in a kitchen, let alone slaving over a hot stove. The mental image she conjured up – apron and steam frazzled hair – was almost enough to bring a smirk to her face.

'I could if I wanted to,' he said a bit defensively. 'But no. I'm not particularly fond of cooking.'

'Well. I learned,' she shrugged. 'And anyway, how the bloody hell do you know what I'm good at? Did Draco tell you?'

He cringed.

'Firstly,' he held up a finger, 'your language is..._quite_ disgusting. I'm not going to ask if you were raised in a barn, Miss Granger, because then I'd be accused of being a Supremacist. _Again._ But I reserve the right to think it loudly. Secondly, I make it a point to know as much possible about the...opposition. Know thine enemy.'

She laughed.

'Then again,' he conceded softly. 'These are different times.'

'People don't usually change much, in my opinion,' she said. 'Ron is proof of _that_.'

'Are you...comparing _me_...to Mr Weasley?' Lucius arched an eyebrow. 'I'm not sure whether to be insulted...or sick.'

'The world might stop turning if that was a joke.'

'Would you like me to stop before you get a mirgraine?'

'Please.'

**oOo**

Monday came and went. Hermione worked on the equation and resisted returning to the Manor for fear of overstaying her welcome. She returned on Tuesday, equation in hand.

She trod the soft grass, past the twin stone lions to where he was standing, partially obscured by leafless, tangled rose bushes. His familiar cloak touched his ankles, but it was his hair she'd recognise a mile away. It fell loose, fine strands stirring in the Winter breezes that whipped hrough the estate.

'Mr Malfoy?'

He startled. There was a telling redness about his eyes.

'I'm off, now.'

'It's a shame you weren't here this Summer gone,' he said, gesturing to his roses. 'These were beautiful. Yellow and white. I've collected them since I was young.'

'Actually, roses are my favourite,' she admitted. 'White ones really.'

'Roses have been used for thousands of years or convey messages,' he said. 'Mostly sentiments of love, but some have other meanings. White, for example, signifies innocence. I have a particular breed down near the pond, Scarlet Carson, they're called. Perfect crimson,' he gestured with his hands as though he was holding one.

A lance of unexpected pity shot through her for the Deatheater who grew roses.

'I never imagined you'd know so much about...flowers.'

'Because of my affiliation with the Dark Lord?' he said softly. 'Really, Miss Granger. I'm surprised that you, of all people, can't see the woods for the trees! I was a captive in my own house! An interest in horticulture is incompatible, in your mind, with the protection of one's name? One's...family?'

'I suppose not,' she conceded gently.

Her eyes caught a glistening expanse of partly frozen water. He followed her gaze.

It was the lake she'd seen from the Morning Room. She could see evidence of water lillies and far below, the slumbering shapes of huge Koi Carp.

'I call it the Malfoy's Private Lake,' he said softly, humour evident in his voice. 'A jibe, at my late Father, who was obsessed with the biggest and the best. He had excellent taste in fashion, furniture and drink and a heart like a_** rock**_.'

The venom with which he spat the last made it abundantly clear that Lucius Malfoy had not had a pleasant upbringing.

'How wonderful it must have been to return home each year to welcoming arms,' he said softly.

'I didn't think...I mean...Draco seemed loved.'

Lucius arched a brow. She shrugged and looked away.

'Maybe not all scars are visible,' she conceded.

His lips tilted up. He turned his frozen eyes on the lake. He looked like a sad statue on the edge of grief. She sensed he was breaking inside the cocoon of black. Six months before she wouldn't have given half a damn is Lucius Malfoy drowned himself in his own _lake_, but it was different now. Now that she knew he liked chocolate brownies, and coveted red roses. She couldn't care for refined tastes for the sake of refinement but his favourites were hers too and though she hadn't said it, he was actually quite funny in a dry, sarcastic way. Not dissimilar actually, to Snape. She could see what the two men had in common, and imagined that Lucius, of all people, might have been able to give the clever professor a run for his money.

Odd that the once Deatheater was so deep. On the other hand, she supposed, her opinion as a teenager might have been a little biased, especially since Malfoy had spent so much time trying to kill Harry. She came up short. He must have caught the honest moment of realisation flitter across her face, or betray her through her eyes because he asked;

'I can hear the cogs turning,' he said. 'What is it?'

'Nothing.'

He let out a foggy breath.

'Fine,' she shrugged. 'You asked, Mr Malfoy. I was just thinking that you never actually tried to _kill _Harry.'

'Actually I did. Just once, mind you. Though I would have lived to regret it. For that, at least, I have that wretched little creature Dobby to thank.'

Hermione folded her arms.

'He wasn't wretched,' she whispered. 'And he was less of a creature than some wizards I've met!'

He turned to her, eyebrows raised.

'I see you had an acquaintanceship with him. He was a wilful,_ obsequious _little thing. Do you think I don't know what he did? Little _rat._ I hardly think I should pity him now.'

Hermione's eyes filled with tears.

'He was my friend,' she said softly. 'Do you even know what it means to have a friend?'

His expression darkened.

'How dare you-'

'Do you?' she demanded. 'Someone who cares just because they want to! Someone you haven't paid!'

'Do you think Potter and Weasley love you for _you_? Or for what you can do for them!' he sneered. 'We both know that without your help those _buffoons_ would be long dead.'

She folded her arms. She didn't want to entertain those thoughts. He sniffed, haughtily.

'I see the light of understanding dawns,' he met her eyes. 'Inspiring. Perhaps we should install lampshades, before we get blinded.'

'I think you should get laid,' she breathed.

He frowned, for the first time apparently flummoxed.

'Excuse me?'

She turned back to him.

'You heard me.'

'Is that your answer?' he approached her steadily, 'My, my, the little bookworm is just full of surprises. That does neatly explain your attire the other night.'

'That's _not_ what I was doing that night!' she protested, suddenly flustered.

'No?' he came within range. 'Why, is that a blush? Have I touched a nerve? Dear me, girl. Is it guilt that's made you flush so prettily?'

'No!' she hissed.

'I imagine Mr Weasley has more skill on a broom than he does in the bedroom.'

Hermione opened her mouth to speak. She'd gone so red she was angry with her own reactions.

'And naturally, _you'd_ be an expert there,' she prodded angrily.

Suddenly he stilled.

'Oh my,' his eyes flicked down to her legs and back up. 'Is it.._.innocence_?'

She turned her back and walked away. He laughed.

She could feel his attention on her back. Her spine tingled pleasantly. Subtle, coiling desire wrapped around the base of her spine, suggesting that for better or worse, she was stupidly attracted to him.

**oOo**

Dr Grey was dressed mostly in black except for an eccentric red Muggle scarf draped around his neck. One of the fringed ends had come loose from where he usually tucked it into his duffel coat. He always found the Manor too dark and a little overwhelming. A well-dressed shadow appeared on the first landing.

'Doctor,' Lucius nodded to him politely. 'I didn't know you were coming.'

'I'm sorry for the short notice, Lucius. The Ministry insisted.'

'Naturally,' Lucius said, his tone thick with implication. 'Would you like a drink?' he enquired more politely.

The study was warmer than the rest of the house. A blaze burned in the grate and the Daily Prophet lay open on the tea-table. Misty bowed to both men.

'Just tea, please,' Dr Grey said kindly.

'What can I do for you?' Lucius enquired, politely, when Misty had disapparated.

'How are you feeling?'

Dr Grey was only thirty-two. A mere boy and Lucius regularly spared no effort to remind him of it despite the grudging respect he'd slowly acquired for the intuitive man during his house arrest. Grey had a skill for sorting his head even when Lucius couldn't name the problem. He also had the discretion not to boast of his achievements. He was probably the only reason that St Mungo's wasn't full of well-meaning Ministry physicians. Lucius was known to hex anyone who came within six feet of him holding a needle.

'My dreams are troublesome,' Lucius admitted.

He was more candid with Grey than anyone else.

'I think that's to be expected. Dreams are a safe way to catalogue memories and feelings. Are they frightening?'

'That depends,' Lucius said evenly.

'On what?' Grey asked lightly.

'On how easy you are to frighten.'

Grey gave a gentle, endearing little laugh. Dr Grey added a lump of sugar to his tea and stirred it. The clanking of the spoon irritated Lucius, who resisted the urge to charm the spoon to stir without a sound.

'Not _that_ easy, I promise you,' Grey said.

'Neither am I. They still frighten me.'

'Is your sleep otherwise regular?' Grey sipped his tea.

'Hardly,' Lucius' brow arched.

'You're still struggling, then.'

'Three or four hours a night.'

'Are you depressed, Lucius?'

'Hardly,' Lucius sneered at the very idea. Grey nodded.

'I could provide some Sleeping Draught but I'm inclined to think this is a natural response to trauma. I'd like to let it run its course naturally.'

Grey brought out a shrunken file and enlarged it with a flick of his wand.

'The Minister insisted I bring you this. Your evaluation. You can read it if you like.'

Lucius grimaced.

'I believe I can survive without that particular...pleasure. Thank you.'

'Actually it pronounces you fit for rehabilitation. If you'd be willing to reconsider an impartial escort, the Minister is willing to allow you more freedom. _M__ore_ freedom. You'd have to be accompanied everywhere except the Manor, naturally. A small price to pay.'

'You expect me to consent to a _babysitter_?' Lucius hissed.

Grey wasn't intimidated. His serene temperament would bear all but the most grievous temper tantrum. Lucius was almost, perversely grateful for this as secretly, he quite liked to rage.

'It's for your own safety, Lucius, as much as it's for Ministry surveillance,' Grey suggested. 'The public are afraid. Of people like you.'

'Ridiculous,' Lucius' eyebrows ached. 'What on Earth could I _possibly_ do with Aurors breathing down my neck day and night? Do you think I don't see them at the gate! No doubt they'll follow wherever I go!'

'Fear isn't logical. A little patience now will buy you a better future.'

Lucius reigned his tongue.

'Accompanied by whom?' asked coolly.

'I'm sure we could come up with a few choices.'

_Choices._ Though it pained Lucius to admit it, that sounded good. He had too much pride to be openly thankful though. He nodded once.

'Excellent,' Grey smiled gently. There was a pleased twinkle in his eye that thoroughly irritated Lucius.

**oOo**

'Miss Granger,' Lackwit offered her a seat in the plush, red armchair that he kept for guests he actually _liked_. His office was decorated in rich, Autumn shades. It was pleasant on the eyes.

'You wanted to see me, Minister?'

'Harry Potter has submitted reports of your recent dealings with what we can only describe as a rogue faction of the Deatheaters. I appreciate that this is a bitter pill to swallow but just...hear me out, OK? I'm going to do my best to see everyone benefits from this arrangement.'

Hermione nodded.

Lackwit leaned in. 'I understand you've spent some time recently with Lucius Malfoy?'

'Not _with_ him, Minister. He was kind enough to offer me access to a rare book. I spent more time in his library than I did with him.'

'I understand you're unemployed. I confess I was very disappointed when you didn't apply to Auror training. We're always in need of witches of your calibre.'

'I don't want to fight,' Hermione said. 'I spent far too long watching my back. I want to do something to help the people who came off worst. If you'd reconsider my proposal-'

'I'm sorry,' he cut her off. 'It's just not viable. I'm sure you know that funding for experimental treatments is tight. Right now we have more to worry about with trials of surviving Deatheaters, as well as the trouble we're facing from those still undercover. The War may be over on paper, Miss Granger but I'm afraid the reality is quite different. We can't be seen to be throwing gold at a problem that can wait a few years, until we're on better footing.'

'What about the casualties of the Xeoforce curse? I think they deserve chance at a decent life. This research could increase the number of viable magical children too,' she argued.

Lackwit's red silk tie glimmered in the dim lamplight.

'Casualties of war. At least, _for now_. As it happens, A position just became available that might benefit us both. I have a proposal for Lucius Malfoy. I'm – understandably, I think – reluctant to involve him again in the world of Ministry control but I won't lie, his influence and his generous donations are very useful. I don't need to mince my words with you, do I, Miss Granger?'

She let out a slow breath.

'No.'

'I'd like him back where he belongs. If he could be rehabilitated successfully, it would send a powerful message to other Deatheaters, both those under house arrest and facing trial. Gold may flow more freely. It's merely cause and consequence, Miss Granger. Your job would be twofold. To watch him and to protect him. Who knows, perhaps in time we could find funding for your project, providing all goes well.'

'I'm not an Auror, Minister.'

'No, but you have direct experience with casting and resisting the Dark Arts. It was Wartime, Miss Granger. We were all of us forced into difficult situations. It would send a powerful message to have you, specifically _you_, taking part in such a...charitable endeavour. Especially considering your _history_ with the Malfoys.'

'Half the Wizarding world is screaming for his blood. It's frankly a miracle he's still alive, or not in Azkaban.'

Lackwit spread his hands eloquently.

'He was acquitted. It'd be insulting to lie to you, Miss Granger. I won't do that. Lucius Malfoy is a powerful wizard and a dangerous man. The Auror department is already overtaxed. You've shown an aptitude for deflecting his darker moods, evidenced by the fact he hasn't yet banned you from his house. Most of the Ministry staff we sent in the early days never got past the front door. We can provide suitable magical restraints to prevent any harm from coming to you. What we need is someone brave enough to stand up to him. Can you do _that?_'

'Yes,' she said softly. 'It's not hard when he behaves like such a _bastard_.'

Lackwit smirked. 'Before the Dark Lord's return, Malfoy was head of a vast business empire. I'm certain he still maintains those contacts. I doubt he'd overlook a chance to get the gold flowing again. He does have an eye for all that shimmers and shines and naturally, local business benefits from his enterprise.'

Hermione sighed. She had no funding, no lab, no home and the only job on the cards was one she really, _really_ didn't want. _They want Lucius because he's rich. That and his flair for making gold grow on trees is probably why he's not in Azkaban right now. This is bloody corrupt! _

'I'd like to give it some thought before I decide. '

'Of course. Just owl me with your answer, if you would.'

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


	4. All That Slithers

**A/N - A few small changes have been made here and there to the end scene, to make things a bit clearer.**

* * *

><p><span>4. All That Slithers<span>

The subtle breath of the page turning was loud enough for Hermione to appreciate how much she loved books that did that. Something about the old-paper smell and the texture of thick parchment reminded her of much happier days. She hit a pocket of unidentifiable runes. She'd never seen anything like it. The author – _A M Anonymous_ – clearly intended to make it difficult to glean more than scraps from his work.

Hermione was poring over five separate volumes, trying to concoct a working key to decipher his home-made language when an envelope slapped down on her desk loudly. Lucius towered over her.

'_Well_?' he prompted coldly. His gaze fell pointedly to the paper.

When it became clear she wasn't getting a more detailed explanation, she tipped the envelope up and discovered it was magically extended. Three profiles fell out. Her own face stared back from the top sheet. She resisted the urge to fidget uncomfortably.

'If you think I'll consent to be ordered around by a mere _chit _of a girl!' he stopped and composed himself before his normally polite tongue could run away with a thousand things he wanted to say.

Oddly, none of them included _Mudblood. _All the same, there were a few things in there he was certain she'd find very offensive.

Hermione took a couple of deep breaths. She held up the accompanying letter, written on Ministry headed parchment.

'You've got three choices, according to this. Why don't you just pick someone else, if you don't want me?'

He bent to snatch up the first profile. His teeth flashed. 'Sky is _insane_! I should know. And Fairwater always was and will always be a Deatheater at heart!'

'A reformed Deatheater,' she corrected calmly. The implication wasn't lost on him, evidenced by the way his lips thinned in displeasure.

'He wants me to suffer,' Lucius concluded selfishly, drawing himself up straight. 'He wants me to slip up.'

Hermione snatched up Fairwater's picture. She gaped at it.

'I know this one! He was with Carrigan! I saw him just before I disapparated!'

Lucius resisted the urge to rake a hand through his hair.

'The plot thickens,' he arched a brow. With his arms folded, he reminded her of a child told to put away his toys. She was unsure if it was mostly amusing, or mostly annoying. Petulance definitely didn't become him.

Lucius put a hand on one hip and sulked; 'If this is the price of freedom, I must say-'

'At least you know me,' she cut him off. 'Maybe I'm the lesser of three evils in this case? Much as I hate to admit it.'

'And do you intend to accept?' his eyebrow arched eloquently.

'I don't think I have much choice. I have to pay rent, you know.'

'This is unconscionable!' he hissed. He bent suddenly. His face was so close that she could see his eyelashes. 'Let me assure you, Miss Granger...should you accept this position, I shan't make it easy for you.'

Hermione put her quill down with a bit of a bump. _This isn't about me, _she realised._ This is about control. He's not getting any from me. _

'I wish I could say I'm surprised!' she snapped. She flicked her wand to pack her papers away and grabbed her bag. Lucius straightened. He seemed about to say something but then he huffed in contempt and strode away.

**oOo**

Hermione woke to Kreacher's muttering. It never ceased to irritate her. He tugged back the drapes and flooded the room with unwelcome sunshine. She buried her nose in the cold half of the pillow and bit her cheek.

'_Filthy_ little-' his voice faded away behind the laundry basket. 'My poor Mistress!'

Hermione bunched her fists in the pillow and restrained herself from throwing it at his head.

'If she only _knew_!' he went on, sotto voce.

'Kreacher!' Hermione groaned. 'Talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity _and_ it's really rude.'

Kreacher's insincere bow hide the scowl on his pinched, angry little face.

'And _please_ don't come in here when I'm sleeping,' she added.

'Yes...Miss,' he oozed, reluctantly.

He took a last disapproving look at her over his bony shoulder and slammed the door with a snap of his fingers.

**'**_Filthy_ little Mudblood-' he muttered. The stairs creaked under his weight as he descended.

_'Asshole_,' she mouthed into the pillow.

**oOo**

Despite having more frequent visitors, Grimmauld Place was never completely clean. Hermione despised the smell of dust. Dust made a house feel dead and abandoned so she asked Kreacher to clean it.

She climbed the narrow, creaky stairs to the third floor where the carpet was singed around the edges. It looked like the result of a magical accident, maybe uncontrolled wandless magic. The door frames bore little marks too, as though a mad dog had taken chunks out in boredom. She met Kreacher by accident. He was like a little grey ghost in the restless dark. He squeezed a filthy rag into a bucket of disgusting, brown water and stopped scrubbing the skirting when he sensed her presence.

'What's through that door?' Hermione pointed to the bare attic steps with the lighted lip of her wand.

Kreacher laid the rag painstakingly over the edge of the bucket as though having to squeeze it out again would be insultingly time consuming and turned to her as though he was holding an invisible box, no bigger than a biscuit tin.

'A box,' he said darkly. His face grew a nasty little grin. 'Mistress leave it with Kreacher. Bad things inside. Miss not go there,' he gazed at the bolted door. 'Unless...she like ghosts?'

Hermione folded her arms as a chill raced down the back of her neck.

'That's _not _funny.'

'Kreacher only means to protect Miss-' he bowed obsequiously.

She turned on her heel. Being alone in this spooky, damp old house gave her the creeps. Kreacher smiled at her back, his sharp teeth suddenly a bit brighter, like a tiny shark who'd gained a small victory. As she took the stairs down to the second landing, she could have sworn she heard him chuckle.

_'Horrible_ little beast,' she breathed, disturbing a small cloud of dust from the edge of an empty picture frame.

**oOo**

Malfoy Manor loomed through a thick, early morning fog that muffled the calls of unseen peacocks. The white birches were ghostly in this atmosphere. She could feel the moisture on her face, the sensation dulled somewhat on her scars. It smelled fresh but she didn't like the feeling outdoors. She wanted the warmth of a fire and the security of a smaller space.

Lucius was in the drawing room with a huge, shaggy fur ball at his feet. She knew it was a dog because it had a tail at one end and a nose at the other. Either that, or it was a new species of small, long-haired pony.

'Good morning, Mr Malfoy,' she said, as lightly as she could. The Ministry letter had come at breakfast, depriving her of a rasher of crispy bacon in the name of kindness to owls.

'Isn't this ironic,' he lifted his glass to his lips. 'All your fine achievements and you end up working for _me_.'

The half empty bottle on the little silver table by the armchair suggested he'd already drowned his sorrows in amber nectar.

'I'm not working for you. I'm working for the Ministry.'

He made a derisive noise. 'Let me assure you, Miss Granger, half their funding comes from my vault.'

'Maybe,' she conceded. 'But not on paper.'

The breath rushed out of her when the dog opened two crimson eyes. It came to sniff her knees. A second snaked out of the dark behind his chair. Lucius observed like a man enjoying his entertainment. Hermione reined in the wild fear that threatened to steal her famous Gryffindor courage and held her ground.

'You don't like dogs?' he arched an eyebrow at her. 'How unfortunate. Now I have some liberty I intend to walk them often, far from the grounds. I do enjoy the open countryside.'

'That's a _dog_?' she fought to keep the fear out of her voice.

A bright red tongue lolled out, displaying the tips of pointed teeth. A wet nose nudged her knuckles.

'Can you get it off me?'

He smirked. He lifted his chin. 'Adder. Arrow! Lie down.'

The dogs planted themselves at his feet where the larger put his jaw on his Master's knee and gave him the quintessential expression of dogs everywhere – huge, innocent, hungry eyes. Lucius scratched him idly behind the ear and indulged a rare little smile that had nothing to do with sarcasm. It looked like he'd borrowed it from someone else's face.

'I wonder if you understand the...compromising...position you've put yourself in, Miss Granger? What will the Daily Prophet say when they see you consorting with the enemy?'

She folded her arms.

'It's a job, Mr Malfoy. That's all there is to it.'

'Of course,' he arched a fine, dark brow. His fingers moved automatically through thick grey fur. 'And naturally, being so close to the book will prove useful to your research. How convenient for you.'

'I think you're labouring under a misconception,' Hermione said softly.

'Do tell,' his lips lifted in a cold smile.

'You seem to think I _wanted _this.'

Hermione sighed. 'Do you need me this morning?'

'As a matter of fact, I do.'

'What time?'

'Do you have somewhere else to be, Miss Granger?'

'_Not _that it's any of your business but I was going to apparate into town for breakfast.'

'Misty,' he said, imperiously. The elf appeared with a crack at her feet.

'Is Miss hungry?' Misty squeaked. 'Misty has...sausages, bacon, eggs...croissants, cold meats-'

'It's OK Misty, really.'

'Honey cured bacon?' Misty suggested, hopefully. Her eagerness to please was heartbreaking.

'You _really_ don't need to,' Hermione assured her.

'You'd better accept, Miss Granger,' Lucius drawled as he caressed the dogs shaggy head. He looked amused. 'Misty gets rather restless with nothing to do. I'm certain I could find her something else-'

'A bacon sandwich would be amazing,' Hermione finally relented.

'Yes, Miss!' Misty practically bounced. 'Would Miss like sauce? What sort? And butter? How thickly spread?'

When Misty was gone, Hermione turned to him. The way he lounged arrogantly in the armchair sickened her.

'Why do you do that?'

'I'm sure I don't know _what_ you mean.'

'You make her life harder.'

'Misty is my _servant_,' he said patiently, in a tone you might use to educate a young child, 'Do you propose to tell me how I should behave in my own house?'

Hermione bit her cheek to keep from retaliation. Lucius went on, content to provoke;

'I can see she's already wrapped you around her little finger. Wilful creature,' he sniffed.

Hermione toyed with the handle of her wand. How she wanted to hex him. _Some people never change,_ she thought.

The dog gave a little yelp of pain. Lucius sat forward to investigate. Hermione nearly lost her early morning coffee and her sanity when he cooed;

'Ooh, shush, love, it's alright. It's just a tick.'

_He's like one of those weird old women who adore their fifty cats. _It was disturbing to watch.

'There,' he exclaimed triumphantly, as he brandished a squirming little white monster at the tip of his wand and gave his dog an affectionate smile. 'All better.'

He eyed Hermione. She tensed. She half expected him to flick it at her. Anything with more than four legs was bad news in her opinion. His eyes smirked in quiet satisfaction. She schooled her face free of fear and arched a brow in silent challenge. He flung it into the fire. It sizzled and popped.

'I require a trip to the bank, Miss Granger,' he said, without taking his eyes off her. He was waiting for her to breathe out her relief, or relax her tense shoulders. She fought the urge.

'Fine.'

'And then...I require a few items. Since you've nominated yourself to shadow my every move, I'm afraid you'll have to tolerate some time at my favourite tailor.'

**oOo**

He was precisely on time. She wasn't surprised. The infamous Lucius Malfoy late for an appointment? _No way,_ she thought. He was preened and groomed like his showy peacocks. There was a bounce to his step and he'd clearly swallowed at least one Pepper Up potion for the hangover. _I'd say he's looking forward to this_.

She slipped an envelope out of her purse and stopped him before he could walk right past her. Misty was already hauling open the heavy front door. A cold draft blew up her robes and brought on a shiver.

'The Minister has a few terms, Mr Malfoy.'

She held up the silver bangles. He didn't look best pleased and he didn't offer his wrist. She sighed.

'I _know_ you don't like it. Believe me,_ I_ don't either.'

He didn't move a muscle. In the end she grabbed his cuff.

'I can manage,' he pulled himself out of her grasp and slid the silver bracelet over his hand.

It merged into his skin and he gave an irritated little hiss of pain.

'I'm sorry,' she said honestly, when she realised the bracelets had a bit of a bite. Perhaps it was a warning? She flicked her wand over them and a shimmery, connecting cord became visible for a just a second before it faded to transparency.

'OK,' she said anxiously. She pocketed her wand. 'Obviously...a few other conditions apply. You can't apparate away from me. That'd be _completely_ stupid. I have a full license so that shouldn't be a problem-'

'You can't expect me to trust my person to your...questionable...abilities!' he grouched.

'It's only Diagon Alley, Mr Malfoy,' she couldn't keep a hint of irritation out of her voice. 'I think I can manage _that_. Incidentally. Don't think that...cutting off my arm...will get rid of me. The spell won't break and if any harm comes to me, you'll be transported straight to the Ministry. The bracelet operates as a Portkey in the event I become unable to defend us. I can also activate by choice it if we're-' she swallowed hard. 'Attacked.'

She took a deep breath.

'Any spell you cast on me will rebound...twofold.'

His eye cooled by a few degrees.

'It's the only way,' she said.

Piercing blue met warm brown. For a minute there was a tug of war that almost crackled with wandless magic then his lips thinned in displeasure.

'Fine,' he hissed. 'If you're _quite _satisfied.'

A lesser witch might have taken pleasure in the power she now had over him but Hermione was more concerned that bruising his ego would lead to tougher working conditions.

At the gate she drew her wand and uncomfortably offered her hand. He cut her a cold look. A hint of derision crept in to his expression. He looked like he'd smelled something nasty.

'Will you at least _try_ to trust me?' she persisted.

His jaw was set. He ground his teeth.

'If I arrive short of so much as a hair, I promise you I won't require magic to make you regret it.'

She grabbed his hand.

They materialised at the apparition point in Diagon Alley. His disquiet was buried instantly beneath the thick mask of an extremely gifted actor. She knew then that she'd glimpsed a secret world back at the Manor, a chink in the armour of an exceedingly private man. _Lucius Malfoy is obviously more than he seems_, she realised.

A bent old woman gasped at their arrival. She stared Lucius up and down, no doubt recalling something written in the paper. Hermione made her wand and herself a bit more visible but she needn't have bothered. Lucius lifted his chin and his eyebrow in frozen, wordless enquiry. The old lady shuffled away quickly with her gaze pointedly elsewhere.

With a slight nod of infinite satisfaction, Lucius turned to look down at her.

'Miss Granger,' his said, his voice softer than silk, 'Be so good as to warn me before you lay a hand on me again.'

She folded her arms. She couldn't help the flush that crept up her cheeks.

'It's for your own protection,' he added a bit more gently than she expected, 'I've spent many years around individuals who'd gladly hex me in the back. I'm afraid my reactions are quite...automatic.'

'Oh,' she looked a bit sheepish. 'I suppose that makes sense.'

A quick nod and tight smile. He pointed down the street with his cane to an upmarket liquor shop.

'There first,' he said, in a commanding tone that she thought, rather uncomfortably, might just set the standard for the whole day.

Hermione soon prayed for a reprieve. Lucius Malfoy liked shopping. It was like trying to keep track of a child in a sweet shop. He could put on a turn of speed that she had to jog to match and she absolutely _wouldn't_ do that. It resulted in a few tense words and a battle of the wills that eventually forced him to slow down. He could also disappear too easily into the crowd. She was grateful for the bracelets. He was recognised every fifty yards. With all the nodding she was amazed he didn't get dizzy.

'Lucius!' a soft, feminine voice positively oozed out of the doorway of the run down little tobacconists. The bell tinkled behind her as she came prowling down the steps in heels so high that Hermione was amazed she didn't fall flat on her perfect face. Her long, dark hair was artfully arranged over one shoulder in a complex braid. There was slender serpentine tattoo on her jugular. She slinked over to him like an underfed cat and offered her hand in greeting. 'How _wonderful_ to see you again. Your absence has been noted!'

He kissed her knuckles. 'Do give my regards to your husband,' he said silkily.

'Of course,' she smiled, so beguilingly that Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She stood uncomfortably to one side, arms folded.

_I've never seen anyone try to ooze up a mans trouser leg before, and now I have, I wish I'd had the sense to look away._

'You will join us, for our little Christmas get-together? Everyone would be so delighted to see you.'

'Naturally.'

The dark haired witch giggled and laid a hand on his forearm. Hermione had the very distinct feeling that a lot more had transpired between them than a bit of flirting. There was a brief exchange and her startling blue eyes turned all of a sudden to Hermione.

'Oh Lucius...how quaint! I must say, I thought you tastes ran to more refined prey?'

'Excuse me?' Hermione said coldly.

'I know who you are,' the dark witch smiled without a trace of humour.

She turned her attention back to Lucius in the best approximation of a pout she'd ever seen on a woman. Apart from Bellatrix Lestrange.

'Your kitten has claws,' she purred. Her eyes flicked to Hermione. 'Let's see her use them!'

Lucius stepped in the way of her wand, his chest blocking her line of sight. He bent to whisper in her ear.

'Now, now, Rosaline. We wouldn't want to cause another scene, would we?'

He arched a questioning brow to which she pouted and casually, stowed her wand. Hermione refused to look as intimidated as she felt.

'You're right,' Rosaline murmured. 'Do come and visit, won't you, Lucius? Mercy misses you terribly, you know.'

He nodded. She oozed away, trailing the scent of expensive perfume that made Hermione feel slightly sick.

'What a vile woman,' she said uncomfortably. 'I'm surprised she can get that much make-up on her face. She must use a trowel.'

His eyebrow arched.

'Well well, Miss Granger,' he chuckled lightly. 'Jealousy certainly doesn't become you.'

He tutted gently. His mastery of the expression of Fatherly disapproval made her feel weak and small. She _hated_ it. _This isn't what I imagined I be doing at my age. I should be finding the Xeoforce cure, not trailing Lucius Malfoy like a pet._

'I'm not _jealous_ of her!' Hermione folded her arms a bit defensively. 'I just think she looks ridiculous.'

**oOo**

'Your daughter, Lucius?' the tailor asked curiously. He was a plump, diminutive man with a comb-over and very skinny legs. Judging by the way he faffed and fussed over the under-dressed Malfoy, he was almost certainly bent toward the male persuasion.

'Thankfully _not_,' Lucius eyed himself appraisingly in the full-length mirrors. The room reminded Hermione of a dance studio.

She squirmed on her chair and tried not to draw any attention to the fact that her bladder was full and she'd been sitting down for two hours with nothing to do except watch him decide on endless fabrics and styles.

_Why did I say yes to this stupid job? Merlin's balls, what possessed me?_

Mr Clarence chuckled and raised both eyebrows.

'She's not _that_ either,' Lucius set him straight without a hint of shame. He eyed himself. 'Do you have this in silver? Silver brings out my eyes.'

Clarence gave a little bow and scuttled off to fetch the second most expensive silver brocade he had. Lucius turned to the side.

'Miss Granger, lend me your eye. Does this jacket make me look plump?'

'Plump?' she parroted dumbly.

'Mmm,' he nodded absently. 'Black is hardly my colour. It makes me look so pale. Perhaps blue?'

'You're asking me for fashion advice?' she muttered uncomfortably. 'Honestly, I don't think I'll be a lot of help.'

She sighed at his questioning little look and felt the flush rise. She gestured to him.

'It needs to be longer. If the panels were more-' she gestured.

'More..._what,_ Miss Granger?' his eyebrow arched.

She sighed. She fished her wand out and eyed the cut. With a couple of flicks she made a small change here and there and tucked her wand under her arm. He eyed himself. Both eyebrows went up this time.

'Yes, that'll do nicely. Who'd have thought it, Miss Granger.'

She went back to her uncomfortable chair with the feeling that the world had just tilted. She was now in an alternate reality where she gave fashion tips to vain, arrogant supremacists.

**oOo**

Hermione was miserable. Her backside was numb. Clarence didn't appreciate her help. She could tell by the way he glanced appraisingly over the top of his spectacles. He tutted, shook his head in blatant disappointment at her Muggle-born inadequacy and fastened Malfoy's cloak with a flourish.

She had to admit Lucius cut an imposing and perhaps classical figure but he was no prince. More of a toad. _Never in my life have I met such a pompous, self-serving, vain, shallow prick of a man. _

'This way,' Lucius gestured her abruptly towards the door. He didn't wait for her to catch up.

'Slow down!' she hissed on the steps. She bent to rub her calf. 'Pins and needles!'

He drew his wand.

_'Don't!_' she squeaked. Before she could stop him he gave an irritated little gasp and planted a hand on his hip in obvious discomfort.

'For Merlin's sake!' he hissed through his clenched teeth.

'You obviously forgot you can't cast against me.'

'It was hardly _against_ you, Miss Granger,' he said as he squeezed his eyes shut briefly. 'It was supposed to help,' he added.

'I know,' she said delicately. It would have been a nice gesture, ordinarily.

An eddy in the crowd suggested the movement of a body with purpose. Hermione's hand closed on her wand inside her pocket. She spied a corn blonde head of perfectly styled hair and realised too late who was slithering towards them.

'Well,' Skeeter laid a perfectly manicured hand on her hip. She smiled hungrily. 'A pretty picture indeed. Mr Malfoy. Didn't expect to see you out and about. And...Miss Granger. I never forget a face.'

Hermione said nothing. Lucius tried to relax the tense muscles in his legs. He would not go tripping about. He resolved to stand perfectly still until it wore off.

'Treatment coming along nicely, is it?' Skeeter gestured to her face. 'We expected more scarring. It's always a good story. Triumph of Gryffindor courage over adversity. Care for an exclusive or are you two busy? First date is it?'

Lucius looked down his nose. In that expression Hermione read more than if he'd made a whole speech.

'No,' he said coldly.

Skeeter flipped open her bag. Her dreaded Quick Quotes Quill escaped, notepad in tow.

'Must be your first time out and about since Azkaban,' she smiled at Lucius. 'Good to be free, I bet._ So_ traumatic,' she looked sympathetic.

'The bathroom facilities leave much to be desired,' he drawled.

'Mmm,' Skeeter nodded. 'You seem to have all the help you need in dear Miss Granger, war heroine,' the Quill scribbled uncontrollably. 'How touching! Is there romance in the air?'

'Absolutely not,' Hermione flushed.

Lucius hissed; 'Certainly not. Miss Granger is on Ministry business. Past that I decline to comment.'

'I can keep a secret,' Skeeter smiled.

She disapparated with a crack. Hermione cursed under her breath.

'Do you want to sit down?' she asked him delicately.

'I doubt I can make it to the chair,' he admitted.

She swallowed her amusement with great difficulty and waited until the tension in his face drained away. He shook himself out of his discomfort and gestured to the next shop.

'No,' she hung back. 'Absolutely not! I've been sitting on a bloody stool for two hours! I need to powder my nose. Right _now_. And feed myself!'

She headed in the direction of a little tavern named The Triwizard Cup.

'Absolutely not!' he grabbed her discreetly by her elbow. 'I won't be seen dining in...' he cast about for a suitable word and finding nothing that adequately described his general air of disgust he settled for; '_there! _Follow me.'

He lead her around a corner to a gilded, beautiful establishment that was far bigger inside than out. She managed to catch the briefest glimpse of the clientèle before he pushed the door open with his cane. His eyes flicked pointedly._ Inside._

'Come, Miss Granger,' he drawled, 'Let's not have a scene.'

'I don't think I'm dressed for this,' she was only wearing her work robes.

His eyes threatened consequences if she refused. He bent to speak softly to her hairline.

'My reputation already hangs by a thread,' he hissed. 'If you want to eat today, you'll do as I say. I won't be subjected to peasant food.'

'Fine,' she felt insulted to the core.

There was a whole flight of steps before they got near a bathroom, _or _lunch. Her bladder complained almost as loudly as her stomach. She couldn't help but notice that silk blouses, heels and expensive coats were in abundance. She felt completely misplaced.

In the decadent loo, she pointed her wand at her robes and transfigured something a bit more suitable.

Lucius eyed the shapely backside of a woman on her way to the restaurant. She reminded him of Narcissa. A slender figure padded up to him in black flats, her hair piled up. A few sweet little curls tickled her face. Lucius did a double take.

'Miss Granger,' his lips lifted in a little smirk. 'Well, well.'

He gestured her ahead of him. He bent to speak to her bun at the door.

'I _do_ hope no-one casts _Finite Incantatem_ near you. Perhaps that'll give you reason enough to behave. I'm sure I could manage the rebound of such a simple spell.'

'Don't you _dare!' _she hissed as quietly as she could.

He smirked. 'A dare? Such a brave little Gryffindor. Don't _tempt_ me.'

The food was – predictably – delicious but she'd have paid a lot to see him devour a pub pork pie with a plastic spork. She felt uncomfortable at the little window table. There was a pink rose in a slender vase between them and filtering in via an enchantment, rather boring classical music. The rich and influential all around made her feel like she'd stepped onto a movie set.

Lucius started work on his second glass of wine.

'Isn't it a _bit _early for that?' she gestured to it.

'It most certainly isn't,' he said haughtily.

She ate in silence for a while.

'I used to bring Draco here. You chose his favourite lunch. Strange you should share similar tastes.'

'I never noticed,' Hermione said. She was reminded of the day she'd clocked him in the nose just before Buckbeak's execution. 'I was a bit too busy watching for his hexes at school to look into his deeper personality traits.'

Lucius smirked.

'He mentioned your...dislike.'

'_My_ dislike?' she looked up. 'Of him? He was obnoxious in school! He made a habit of calling me things that most civilised people don't even _think_.'

Lucius sipped his wine.

'I imagine you think he learned it from me?'

She decided not to answer that but her expression said enough.

'He didn't,' Lucius tilted his head. There was an almost apologetic edge to his expression that very nearly sent her crawling for cover.'Those...terms...are a foolish display of snobbery. I did try to teach the boy subtlety. It's hardly my fault he didn't listen. Sometimes, Miss Granger, implication can be just as hurtful as an insult. It's_ certainly_ more dignified.'

She shook her head in disgust. 'So what you're saying is, it's fine to _think_ it, fine to _hint at it_, but it's not OK to say it. That's _not _making me feel much better.'

'It shows restraint,' he informed her.

'It's a lie,' she said softly. 'You might as well just say what you mean.'

'Come now, Miss Granger. Are you telling me you never lie? Not even to protect your friends?'

'That's different,' she defended. 'That's a white lie.'

'One day the world will deal you a harsher hand and you'll find reasons to lie through your pretty little teeth that supersede the desire to feel morally superior.'

Hermione sighed softly, through her nose, irritated.

'I _don't_ have a desire to feel superior,' she said defensively. 'You really don't know the first thing about me.'

He gazed down his nose at her. Then with the arch of a perfect blonde eyebrow he summoned the waiter with the bill.

'I only read books that _interest_ me,' he said coldly. She caught his implication and bit her tongue to keep from a retort.

**oOo**

She was still stewing when he towed her into an upmarket stylists and instructed her to sit and wait.

'Do try to be patient,' he said, a bit cuttingly. '_If_ you can.'

There was nothing so common as a magazine rack in here. Gods forbid some Pureblood witch or wizard with a screaming desire to be restyled should even have to _wait_.

'Why Mr Malfoy,' came a voice. A sycophantic little weasel of a man slunk out of a shady corner of the shop. Despite working in probably the best lit shop town, he carried an air of perpetual darkness.

'Carlos,' Lucius nodded.

'What on Earth happened to you?' the little man folded his arms and regarded his latest project with a one-sided smirk.

'A season or two in the dark,' Lucius said coolly. 'Amongst...other things.'

Lucius gestured to his trademark hair. 'A little...fluff, I think. Leave it longer than usual. I quite prefer it.'

'Your daughter?' Carlos gestured to Hermione, who managed to stop herself looking as offended as she felt.

_'No_. Thankfully. If I'd known you were still working, I'd have had you up to the Manor sooner.'

'They begged me to come out of early retirement,' Carlos informed him happily, as Lucius sat down with his cane between his knees.

Carlos inspected his hair from every angle and began running his fingers through it lightly. 'Down on one knee,' he smirked. 'It was very sweet. I couldn't resist. I just..._love_-' he said a little breathlessly, 'Your _hair_.'

Lucius smirked. Carlos fished his wand out of the little holster at his hip and stood in a pose so reminiscent of a stereotype that Hermione had to look away to keep from smiling. Then he began snipping away, contorting himself into the oddest positions to admire every little angle of his work.

'A little light feathering would suit you. Just a touch,' Carlos emphasised. 'Wouldn't want you too floaty, or the wind will pick it up too easily. Oh, I'll _never_ understand why you straighten it. It has a lovely natural curl.'

At that, Hermione's ears perked. Carlos noticed and turned to her.

'He does,' he assured her. 'Like a blonde cherub.'

'Rest assured, Miss Granger, I'll shave it off before I allow _anyone_ to see that.'

Carlos clipped a good portion of Lucius' mane on top of his head. He set about the business of wand-straightening his style from the bottom up. He looked conflicted about what he was doing.

'There,' he announced. 'Just a little fluff in the morning,' he gave it a light scrunch and played with the topmost layer and nodded. 'Perfect. And what about you?' Carlos enquired of her.

Hermione jumped when she realised he was standing right in front of her, that threatening looking wand in his hand.

'I'm fine. Thank you.'

'Miss Granger hasn't realised that I prefer to endure the curious gazes of the general public for the _right_ reasons,' Lucius said drily.

'And what does _that_ mean?' she scowled at him.

'It means that this,' Carlos plucked up one of her roots. 'Just won't do.'

'Unfortunately, I have to be seen in public with you,' Lucius added unkindly.

Her eyes narrowed.

'You are the most...arrogant..._presumptuous_-' she ran out of insults. Not because she didn't have any left but because Carlos flicked his wand at the mirror. She stopped talking to stare at her own reflection.

She had to admit it was an improvement. Regardless, she wasn't going to let anyone bully her into changing her appearance so that he could feel better about himself.

'No,' she said. 'Absolutely not. You're not cutting my hair.'

Carlos smirked. The curly haired beauty in the mirror morphed. Her hair hung in manageable waves, extended magically. It tickled her lower ribs. She stopped breathing. She'd _never_ been able to get her hair that long. It looked _gorgeous _with honey shades worked into it_._ She folded her arms.

'Who said anything about cutting it?' Carlos smirked.

'No. Thank you.'

She fixed Lucius with a threatening gaze that said everything she was trying not to voice aloud._ I'll get my own back for this, you pig. _

Hermione folded her arms and waited for him outside. A chilly breeze stirred her fringe. She cast a glance at his smirking, arrogant face and decided it'd be best if she didn't meet his eyes at all.

'What a shame,' he murmured.

Hermione rounded on him, narrowly resisting the urge to pull her wand and stick the loaded end under his jaw for good measure. She wanted to hex him.

'Listen to me you _pompous arse_,' she hissed. 'You can keep you opinions to yourself. I'm not here to be your accessory!'

He didn't flinch. That irritated her.

'And _stop_ insulting my hair!' she resisted the urge to yell for fear of attracting too much attention.

'Dear me, Miss Granger,' he tutted with false sympathy. 'If you're going to spend time around me, you will have to grow a thicker skin. I suggest an _enchantment_.'

She forced a smile. 'Are you finished shopping?'

'No,' his brow lifted. 'Actually I have _much_ more in mind, yet.'

**oOo**

Hermione fell asleep by the fire with a book open on her belly. Kreacher poked around at the embers and added another log with a snap of his fingers. He stared at her in open contempt.

'Go on,' Harry said softly to him. Kreacher bowed and left with nothing but a single glance over his shoulder.

_'Filthy...filthy beast..._' he muttered as the door swung shut.

Harry draped a blanket over her and dropped onto the sofa opposite.

'I was trying not to wake you,' he said when her eyelids flickered open.

'It's OK.'

'How did it go with Malfoy?'

She closed her eyes again and sighed expressively.

'Horrible, Harry. He's such an arse. He hasn't changed a bit.'

_'There's_ a surprise,' Harry smirked.

'What am I going to do? When am I going to find time to put a decent case together for funding when I'm stuck babysitting? I can't even remember...' she cast about for the right words. 'Anything, Harry. It's all just a blur. The_ Equation_.'

'Maybe it'll come back?' Harry leaned on his knees. 'Why don't you make use of his book while you can?'

She smiled softly. She was footsore and weary and worse yet, she was upset. _How dare he? How dare he try and change her so _**he**_ could look better? _

'He's definitely got a vendetta against me,' she arched a brow. 'He's got plans every single day this week! He's doing it deliberately. He must know I hate this.'

Harry grinned.

'I'm glad it's you and not me. I'd hex him.'

'I nearly did,' she admitted. 'Not like me at all. I can usually hold my temper better than that but he goes out of his way to be_ really_ annoying.'

Harry rose.

'Ginny's probably doing her nut. I should go. Don't let him rile you.'

He bent to kiss her temple and left quietly. Hermione closed her eyes and resolved to forget all about Malfoy, if only for a couple of hours.

**oOo**

Hermione waited in the study for him. It wasn't the _clack_ of his cane that eventually caught her attention. It was the folded copy of the Daily Prophet on his breakfast table.

Emblazoned for all the world to see was a flushed Hermione and an aloof Lucius Malfoy caught in his trademark sneer outside the tailors. She read;

_'Having lost her research grant, soft-hearted Granger seems to have embroiled herself in yet another sticky situation, this time with none other than illustrious ex-Deatheater Lucius Malfoy, previously under house arrest on his family estate. It's too early to tell if she's there for his money or his looks but either way; we can sympathise. Granger clearly has a weakness for strong, famous men. It's certainly not the first time she'd been known to flirt with danger. Ex lover Harry Potter refused to comment.'_

Hermione took a slow, deep breath. She wanted to cry. Then a gloved hand reached around her and snapped the Prophet closed. Lucius laid it aside. He smiled tightly.

'Come now, Miss Granger. Surely this isn't your first experience of bad publicity? The wolves are always circling.'

Her eyes filled with tears. He lifted his chin at her. 'You'd do well to try that enchantment.'

She looked away from him, hoping a few breaths would calm her down.

'Don't talk to me,' she said softly.

**oOo**

Dr Cox was a pleasant, industrious little man in his late fifties, who specialised in supplying potions of the highest quality. He saw as much benefit in recruiting Lucius, and Lucius saw to recruiting him. He noted – during Hermione's brief absence to powder her nose – that she hadn't spoken a word but for a greeting and Lucius wasn't best impressed by her conduct.

'Your daughter?' Cox asked him.

_'No._ Thank Merlin. A business associate.'

'She bears a passing resemblance to that girl...you know...the one from the War. Potter's friend.'

'I hadn't noticed.'

Once Mr Cox was gone, Lucius pushed Hermione into the dark mouth of an alley and blocked her exit with his arm. He bent to speak softly to her.

'Miss Granger. Your mood is _atrocious._ It's most unbecoming. Even Cox noticed it. It won't do.'

Hermione was about at her wits end.

'Let me_ out _of here!' she was almost laughing. It was that or cry. 'Malfoy. I mean it.'

He drew himself up. When he didn't move she stepped right up and glared back at his most imperious expression.

'If you can't bring yourself to give a good impression for the sake of my business affairs-' he began.

'Then you can have Fairwater!' she hissed.

His teeth flashed. 'Why you_ little_-'

Hermione whipped her wand from her hidden pocket and jabbed it into his collarbone.

'Shut up, Malfoy. For once in your life, you can bloody well shut up! My lab is gone, Gillian's dead, my home is in tatters and I can't get funding because Skeeter is telling lies about me in the papers!' Hermione poked him a bit harder. 'And if that isn't enough, half the Wizarding world believes I'm having a...weird...affair with you for your money! I don't think I'll ever be able to show my face in public again after this!'

'Miss Granger,' he said, with a dangerous, deathly calm. 'Kindly move your wand.'

She flicked it back into its pocket and raked a hand through her hair. She tried to swallow back the tears but she was too angry. The truth spilled out with them.

'I thought you'd be grateful for a bit of freedom but all you can do is go out of your way to make me feel uncomfortable! It's frankly...pathetic! Especially when I'm actually here to _help _you!'

She threw her hands up in despair and turned her back to hide her tears.

'_Accio_ tissues!' she snapped at her beaded bag when she couldn't find them by fishing. They flew into her hand.

Lucius' lips thinned. He removed his arm to grant her freedom but she didn't take it. Too ashamed of her tears, he supposed.

'Miss Granger-'

'What?' she whispered, her voice tight with tears. She wiped her eyes.

He closed his eyes briefly to compose the words but apologies never came easily to him.

'I'm sorry.'

'What?' She spun to stare at him.

He spread his hands expressively and gave her an apologetic grimace.

'I don't enjoy being chaperoned like a child,' he said. 'However...I can see it isn't your fault. Forgive me.'

She forced a breath in.

'I-' she tried to form a coherent thought. When she didn't respond he arched an eyebrow impatiently.

'_Do_ stop staring,' he said with less venom than before. She'd never seen self deprecation on his face before.

'OK,' she nodded.

He offered her a gentlemanly hand. When she acquiesced to his touch, he kissed her knuckles lightly and smiled that tight little smile he favoured so. A twinkle in his steely blue eyes suggested genuine feeling. She went unexpectedly warm.

'Lunch?' he asked. 'We have an engagement this afternoon and you ate nothing with Mr Cox.'

**oOo**

She polished off lunch and side salad in a pleasant little park-side café frequented only by those of a certain status. Despite the chill a few runners were out, as well as those walkers bundled up to brave the cold. Lucius said little as he drank his glass of wine until he flicked her elbow off the table deftly.

'Kindly _attempt_ to behave like a lady?'

She opened her mouth to retort, figured it probably wasn't worth it and finally asked;

'Where exactly am I supposed to put them, then?'

'Anywhere but there,' he looked pointedly at the tablecloth. 'Honestly, Miss Granger. It's like being accompanied by a _vagrant_,' he spat the word like it was the height of insult. 'Are you quite done?'

'I don't know,' she huffed, offended. 'Are _you_?'

'For now,' he drawled, that damned eyebrow risen again.

She bit back the urge to have the last word. He leaned back idly in his chair, one hand forever perched on his silver snakes head cane.

'I'm afraid we have an engagement this afternoon. The Minister has seen fit to impose once again. We're to visit an old...acquaintance of mine. Make no mistake, the man is...how shall I put it?' he feigned confusion that faded quickly. '_A monster_. I did request intervention from the Unspeakables, but the Minister insists there's "_insufficient evidence."_'

He rolled his eyes in clear irritation.

'I _swear_, Miss Granger. I have one and only one frayed little nerve left and that...intolerable _lackwit _is aggravating my condition! I simply require a second pair of eyes for the sake of my back. Would you oblige me?'

'Am I likely to get hexed?'

His chilly eyes gave little away. He seemed annoyed by her question. She couldn't bring herself to care.

'Must I dignify that with an answer?' he drawled. 'Put it this way, Miss Granger. It wouldn't do for your charge to suffer an inconvenient _Avada_ on your watch...all because you refused to accompany him to an appointment. Would it?'

'Must I dignify _that_ with an answer?' she countered drily as she folded her arms, on the table.

He sighed out an irritated breath through his nose and leaned in, cane ready to flick her elbow again. Hermione drew her wand an inch from her pocket. He stopped, his face gone dark, eyes chilled. He withdrew his hand, his lips gone thin. His eyes promised fair recompense for her cheek.

**oOo**

The damp stone corridor lead into a mound of Earth that was surrounded by a lush, evergreen forest. It reminded Hermione of a wartime bunker. The forest smelled fresh and there was a heaviness to the sky that spoke of snow to come. It was already icy and a panoramic view of a wide valley suggested they were at altitude.

Lucius' instructions during apparition were quite concise but regardless, she felt shaken and invaded by the pull and tug of his mental suggestions, as though they'd been forced a little too close for comfort.

A jerk of his head toward the tunnel left her with no question of his intention. She eyed the glistening darkness and the worn stone steps, made slippery by ice and moisture. She hesitated. Lucius slipped ahead of her with a sigh.

'Afraid of the dark, Miss Granger?' his suggestion was biting as the Winter wind.

She didn't answer.

At the bottom of the steps stood a balding little man with a tub gut. His cigarette tip glowed. The reflection caught in his glasses and lent the illusion of glowing red eyes. He had the broad hands of a labourer with thick, strong fingers and knuckles that could break a jaw.

Hermione would bet a weeks salary he could pick her up and swing her like a cat. The thought didn't engender much confidence.

'Horace,' Lucius said with fake surprise. If the tone he used with her before was cold, now he was glacial. 'How nice of you to inform me of your change of location. I was forced to consult an old friend before I could even find you.'

'I sent an owl,' the fat man replied, with no hint of apology. 'Fucking Ministry dogs came sniffing about and we wondered if it had anything to do with you.'

Lucius drew himself up. 'What on _Earth_ are you insinuating?'

Horace shrugged. Hermione couldn't help but think that if he was truly unafraid of the elder Malfoy, he was either stupid or ignorant.

'How _did_ you worm your way out?' Horace looked positively hungry to know.

'I think,' Lucius said slowly, as his eyes dropped to the mans belly, 'That the pot should keep it's silence.'

Lucius leaned idly on his cane and went on languidly;

'The ground is _icy_, isn't it. I almost slipped on my way up here. It would be an unfortunate time to be outside for too long.'

Horace squirmed. Hermione couldn't make heads or tails of what had just transpired but the attitude drained out of Horace's face and in its wake came fear. Something had passed between them in the subtext that Horace found deeply disturbing.

'What's this?' the fat man changed the subject and turned his attention to Hermione.

'My assistant. Miss Infinity Black.'

'Any relation?' Horace asked hungrily.

'None whatsoever. Miss Black has been most helpful to our little...arrangement.'

'Did you bring any with you?'

Hermione felt relieved to be forgotten for now. Horace lead them into a small lift. He gave Lucius a great deal of space. Enough that he could be considered extremely nervous, though he masked it better than most. He flicked his wand at the door. She felt suddenly claustrophobic. She had to work to keep her anxiety off her face and out of her posture but thankfully neither man was paying much attention to her.

'Do you take me for a _fool_?' Lucius looked down his nose.

'You know I'm no good at patience,' Horace looked slightly apologetic.

'Well,' Lucius smiled tightly. '_Learn._ I assure you, the payout will be worth your while.'

Horace wiped his grubby, fat mouth on the back of his hand and nodded. Then the door opened, they were underground, evidenced by the muffled voices that echoed in the way sound did when there was thick stone and dirt involved. Horace lead them down a long tunnel. Lights were tied every few yards, but their halo didn't stretch far enough to provide constant illumination. There were patches of light and dark and in the corners, mud and grime and maybe other, glittering substances that made Hermione extremely nervous.

_I'm a researcher for Merlin's sake, not a bloody Auror!_

'Miss Black has acquired an unusual specimen,' Lucius drawled casually as Horace opened a large metal door by the handle. 'A girl.'

Horace twitched.

'How old?' he rasped.

'Ten,' Lucius flicked a glance to Hermione. 'Blonde. A sweet child, too.'

'Sweet,' Horace parroted softly, as though he were fetishing dessert. It was enough to make her feel sick but not a patch on the sight beyond the door.

_The smell. The ungodly, awful smell of blood and shit_...she tried not the breathe but it was too late. She'd seen her fair share of bodies. Medical science would do that to you. Her stomach rolled over and begged for mercy. It was an underground lab. The cages were nothing more than dirt caverns hollowed by magic and propped up by extendable iron struts.

Lucius gestured for her to precede him. Hermione forced her legs to work. She gripped her wand in her pocket. Lucius' gaze didn't leave Horace's face.

Hermione's knees went weak, her backbone suddenly soft as a liquorice straw. She couldn't breathe. Sweat prickled on the back of her neck. It was too hot. A careful glance around caught the cause of that. A vat of silvery liquid bubbled gently. An enchanted stick stirred it tirelessly, bringing up bubbles. The metallic stench was too familiar from potions classes. Unicorn's blood, more than she'd ever seen in one place before.

Hermione jumped as a bare, red hand wrapped around the bars. She swallowed the urge to vomit. She guessed the boy was fifteen, certainly no older. Probably the unlucky victim of snatchers. He was dosed so high on painkillers that he didn't seem to realise half his skin was missing.

_Human experimentation,_ she realised._ It's a dream, Hermione. It's just a dream. A really bad dream that'll be over in a minute. _

Rickety tables ran the length of the lab holding sample trays of silver-filled bottles. Words passed between Horace and Lucius, sparse and to the point.

'What about your catch?' Horace asked Hermione suddenly.

She gripped her wand until it dug into her hand and called up every ounce of her courage. Then a warm, strengthening hand touched her hip. The lightest press bought comfort and threatened to break her. She moved fluidly out of reach. She cast about for a lie but all she could up with was a convenient, if slightly cowardly escape. She affected her best expression of subservient fear and whispered cautiously; 'May I speak now, Mr Malfoy?'

'No,' Lucius pounced on her question. A flicker of gratitude passed over his face and was submerged under false pride. She wondered if Horace could decode his face so easily as she. 'You may _not_.'

He put a steady hand on the back of her neck. She didn't have to fake her shudder.

'Miss Black has been...extensively instructed...on her place. Half blood. Necessary, you understand, for work with Muggles. She has _such_ a way with children.'

Hermione wasn't sure which she hated more. Horace's obvious hunger or the man who held her like a possession.

Hermione glanced at the vat. Silvery ripples stirred its molten surface. _  
><em>

She was brought up short by a pair of shiny, reflective silver eyes. A woman was slumped against the bars. Silver ran uncontained from every orifice and even gathered on the skin of her face and legs._ She's bleeding the potion. Mactoduplex doesn't do this. What are they trying to make here?  
><em>

Hermione swallowed the lumpy, foul acid that rose into her mouth and gasped as terror crawled up her back, wrapped around her heart and threatened to take the rest of her logic. She stared at the ground. Deep breaths didn't help. She could smell blood and shit. She swayed.

A hand shot out to grab her elbow and Lucius hissed; 'Come Miss Black. We're leaving.'

'No,' she whispered.

_'Move_,' his face twisted into such hatred that she felt her legs move without her consent. His fingers hurt where he gripped her arm.

'Let me know when you got a new batch!' Horace called.

Lucius gave him a curt nut. 'I'll see myself out.'

Lucius shoved her none to gently into the lift to buy himself time to perform a quick, complex incantation and sealed the lift door. She recognised it. _A tracking spell._ He caught her before she could wrench the door open.

'Let go!' she hissed.

With one hand on her wrist to stop her reaching her wand and the other on her throat, he twisted her into the wall and held her there.

'What're you doing!' she squirmed but he was too strong to fight like this.

'_Control yourself, _Miss Granger!'

'Stop,' she was almost pleading. 'We have to _do_ something. We have to help them!'

'No,' he said sharply. 'Our job is done.'

'I _won't_ walk away from them,' she was almost crying.

She tried to dislodge his hand. It tightened until she gasped and gave up. Regret flickered in the depths of his grey eyes, so close she could see his lashes. Hermione stared at him in mute shock.

'In sixty seconds, the Ministry hounds will arrive to decimate the carcass. You and I will walk outside, pause for the photographic evidence and then, you will take my hand and disapparate. Don't fail me.'

Hermione shoved him, hard. He was ready. Finally out of breath, lacking the upper body strength needed to overpower him, she slumped against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut. He didn't let go until the lift ground to stop and the door opened.

His wand snapped free of his cane. He jabbed it into her hip.

'_Walk,_ Miss Granger.'

She raised her eyes to look at him. If he was taken aback by the depth of her hatred, it didn't show. She walked.

* * *

><p><strong>More to come soon!<strong>


	5. Safe House

**A/N - For anyone who's curious, I've worked out that each of these chapters takes me about 6 hours of editing, including reading through out loud. And that's on top of the initial two drafts! o.O There was me thinking I could write a quick fanfic!**

**Thanks muchly to my reviewers, you're keeping me inspired! I'm also delighted to see so many people have favourited and followed Xeoforce. Let's me know someone's reading lol! Enjoy ;)**

* * *

><p><span>5. Safe House<span>

A streaming white comet fell from a heavy sky, overripe with snow. It coalesced into an Auror in a brown, camouflaging cloak.

'Smile, Miss Granger,' Lucius said lightly. 'For Ministry purposes, naturally.' She didn't.

The Auror snapped a magical polaroid with a miniature camera, the type carried for instant photographic evidence and with a muttered incantation, he embedded his magical signature into the picture and shrunk the evidence into a warded pocket of his robes. He acknowledged Lucius with a nod as other Aurors landed like hail.

The atmosphere quaked as the wards shredded. The Aurors dived through the frozen ground like ghosts trailing ectoplasm. There were shouts from underground and then - screams. She startled when Lucius grabbed her hand.

'Come, Miss Granger,' he sniffed.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and tried to visualise the Manor but all she could see was the poor, skinless boy.

_All those people. Reduced to lab-rats in cages. What on Earth are they developing down there?_

She took a deep, slow breath to steady her nerves but it rattled into her lungs, shaky and telling. People were known to splinch if they apparated in pain or distress. She swallowed down the urge to be sick and willed herself calm.

_'Any_ time you like,' Lucius drawled critically.

They materialised just outside the iron gate. As they crossed the threshold and the wards tingled over her skin, Hermione tore the silver bangle off her wrist and threw it at him in helpless anger. She threw up in the bushes. Tears streamed down her face and wet her collar. She choked out a broken laugh in sudden realisation.

'You _bastard_. You can't even cast against me and I let you bully me into walking away! _We should have helped them!_'

Lucius was undisturbed, his frozen expression nonchalant.

'That's what Aurors are for, Miss Granger,' his lips tilted up in the barest, arrogant smirk.

She spat the foul taste from her mouth and turned on him. She seized him by the lapels of his expensive jacket. His soft, fur-lined robes radiated warmth into her fingers and provided relief from the bitter cold. Despite his advantage in bulk and height, she shoved him across the narrow entryway path and against the privet hedgerow with the tip of her wand at his jaw.

His face morphed like an actor coming out of character. A cold, wild animal reared up behind his eyes. He threw her against the very solid gate and pinned her at the throat with his cane. He was suddenly all she could see.

'Malfoy!' she choked as she felt the oncoming ache of oxygen deprivation.

He was heavy and _strong_. Once, she'd imagined him a bit of a layabout with servants to do everything – even wipe his aristocratic arse. She'd underestimated him. His knuckles went white on the cane. He didn't seem to recognise her.

'Stop!' she gasped.

Her wand clattered on the gravel and rolled to bump his boot toe. His expression grew back. He released her suddenly and stepped back. Hermione threaded her fingers through the swirling iron motif and sagged. She gasped for air until the ache dissipated and her panic died. Lucius leaned on his cane one-handed, his expression seized somewhere between guilt and fear. No doubt for his freedom, she thought.

'I warned you never to touch me!' he snapped, tiredly. He sounded nearly apologetic behind his mask of immovable Malfoy pride.

Hermione snatched up her wand. Her eyes flashed fire and courage.

'_Miss Granger-_' he snapped, his voice a whiplash warning.

A moment of absolute silence followed. Lucius drew his wand. It was the calm before the storm and the same expression his ex-wife wore before she hexed her partner senseless. Hermione's hex bounced off his shield. He countered with a rudimentary leg-locker in the hopes of avoiding a more inventive fight. She deflected it into the hedge. It shredded a few evergreen leaves that scattered like dead, green moths at their feet. They fluttered in the passing of three minor hexes in quick succession that made both wary of the other.

_He's fast,_ she thought, breathlessly. _Faster than Harry or Ron. _

She hit him with a jinx she'd modified at home. He staggered and gripped his calf in silent fury.

'Don't start what you _can't finish,_ girl!' he yelled.

His hair fell loose. She ducked under his _Stupefy_. He snatched her retaliation out of the air with a savage flick of his cane.

She remembered his duel with Sirius. She'd gawped at the aurors as they performed their magic wordlessly. She researched for hours afterwards, eager to learn everything she could about wordless and wandless magic. She read until her eyes bled.

'Rosaline was right,' Lucius straightened. His hair was wild, his eyes cold. He mocked her with a smirk. 'You _do_ have claws.'

Incensed, Hermione hit him with a mix of her own that elicited a choked yelp as it burned through his clothes and adhered itself like molten plastic to the skin of his ribs where it sent out stinging pain. He doubled up with a curse.

'You **little**-' his teeth flashed as he panted. Hermione levelled her wand at his nose triumphantly. Her hair was messy, her eyes full of tears but her lips were set in a hard line.

Lucius burst upright and swiped her wand arm aside so hard that she heard the crack of bone over her yell. She grabbed for her wand as it hit the gravel. He grabbed the back of her coat to haul her up and deliver what could have been a threat to never raise her wand to him again. She hit the path on her knees, collapsed and rolled before he could react. Their wands met, tip to tip. She panted and clutched her wrist to her collarbones. Lucius' eyebrows ascended in surprise. Her gaze was full of anger, hate and pain but he couldn't see overt fear in there. He begrudgingly admitted to himself that her courage, though foolish, was quite impressive.

_No wonder Potter and Weasley survived the Dark Lord_, he thought.

Hermione's wand glowed threateningly. She held the hex back to spit her insult at him;

'The fact you even know people like Horace **proves** you're_ nothing_ but a monster at heart! All you care about is your freedom. You don't deserve it. Then to_ threaten_ me, _use_ me, so you can keep you hands clean?!'

His lips lifted into a cold, but triumphant smirk. 'You forgot our little arrangement did you?' he held up his wrist to show her the bangle. 'Haven't quite got the hand of the reins, Miss Granger. I'm glad to see I can still intimidate you, even without magic.'

Hermione shook her head vehemently. 'There were _children_ down there. You're disgusting.'

Lucius' face darkened.

'You _fool_! I was told tales of your intelligence. How _greatly_ they were exaggerated! What, may I ask, would happen to my chances of using other less...savoury...acquaintanceships in the future, if we're caught **clearly**_ helping the Ministry!_'

He arched an eyebrow questioningly like a Father reprimanding a very young, stupid child. Hermione shook her head. Tears dripped onto her blouse. She was bruised _everywhere,_ even inside.

'You didn't even blink,' she whispered. 'How can you be so cold!'

'I'd be of very little use to the Ministry or the...victims...if I had a nervous breakdown at the first sight of gore,' he made it sound like an accusation.

'We should have_ helped_ them!'

'If you believe we could have liberated the test subjects alone whilst simultaneously defending ourselves you're not just naïve, you're _stupid_,' he spat, spitefully.

His ribs hurt like she'd taken a white-hot brand to them. _Who knew the little firecracker packs such a punch?_

A sudden up-welling of exhaustion sapped his resolve to continue their pointless confrontation. He lowered his wand as the first few flakes of evening snow drifted down to settle on his Ermine-trim cloak. He looked at her wand pointedly. She followed suit. He gave up trying to straighten completely and concentrated on breathing steadily.

Hermione put her head down on the gravel. Her wrist was so swollen that her normally ample cuff was tight. Tears ran from the corner of her eyes, chilled the shell of her ears and dampened her hair. Snowflakes landed on her lashes. For a brief, enchanted moment, Lucius found her beautiful in a natural, unadorned way. He sighed a foggy breath in resignation. He'd lost plenty of duels in his life and won a few too but it had been years since the last clean draw. He had to concede a grudging respect for her ability.

_Brightest witch of her age, indeed_, he thought. _Perhaps so._

'It might be prudent to avoid shredding each other in future, Miss Granger? Since we _have_ to work together,' he added, as though the thought was very distasteful.

'Maybe if you stopped being an arsehole,' she snarked unashamedly.

'When you use your brain, I'll be only to _glad_ to comply,' he said waspishly. He clutched his ribs more tightly. 'Where on _Earth_ did you learn such dirty tricks?'

'Running from you and your friends in my seventh year!' she shot back bitterly. 'Damn it, Malfoy. I think you broke my wrist.'

She picked herself up one-handed and retrieved her wand.

'What vicious concoction have you hit me with?' he groused.

'Something I invented when Harry and I were on the run,' she admitted. 'After Ron left. It's a modified stinger jinx, but _much_ more potent.'

She raked a hand through her hair.

'Actually I was going to apply to have it added to the Defence syllabus,' she glanced at his ribs and sighed. 'Now I think it might be a bit severe for even Seventh years. We need to keep this between us, Mr Malfoy.'

'Afraid of losing access to your precious book?' he sneered.

'Of _course_,' she rolled her eyes sarcastically, 'I mean, I have _so_ much more to lose here than you do.'

He made a derisive noise.

'Azkaban keep a cell open and waiting, Miss Granger, or haven't you heard? This time I'm sure they'll swallow the key.'

Hermione reached for the hand that covered his injury. He tugged himself away.

'I _don't_ require your inexpert medical care.'

'If you want to burning to stop any time tonight, you'll need the counter-curse. I designed it for use on Deatheaters. It's not supposed to just wear off and it's resistant to most rudimentary healing spells.'

'How...Slytherin...of you.'

'We were just trying to survive,' she said darkly.

**oOo**

Misty snipped Hermione's sleeve away expertly. With a series of elvish spells, she mended the fractured bones and then wrapped her wrist in bandages with industrious, practised little fingers. A pain draught took away the residual discomfort and brought down the inflammation with magical efficiency. It helped her mood too.

Her custom hex had singed a hole the width of her palm in Lucius' expensive clothes.

'Take this off,' she gestured to his jacket.

'If you want to get my shirt off, Miss Granger, why don't you just ask?'

Hermione shook her head. 'Don't flatter yourself. I doubt you've got anything under here that'll make me go weak at the knees.'

He made a derisive little noise that said _believe what you want_.

'If you were aiming for my balls, you missed,' he groused, as he obeyed her stiffly.

She dug through his waistcoat and soft, ivory shirt to find the sizzling, glowing stinger. It looked like a tiny net of green electric wires. The skin was blistered and pinched. She pressed her wand to it and murmured the counter-curse. The net dissolved into smoke. He winced. She found some small, un-Gryffindor satisfaction in being the architect of his well deserved pain, for once. She'd probably cost him more tonight in finery than she spent on food in a week but she wasn't sorry.

'Let Misty help with your bruises, Miss!' Misty hopped onto the arm of the sofa and gave Hermione a reassuring smile.

They began to fade away slowly as Lucius fetched himself a drink. Life at the Dark Lord's whim wasn't easy on the body but he was stiff and sore in places he'd forgotten. _Perhaps I'm getting old? _he mused. Then he scoffed;_ Don't be _**ridiculous. **He put it down to over-abuse.

The purple beads on her favoured bag clinked together dully as she folded her hands on top of it.

'You ask an awful lot of me. You could just tell me where we're going so I know what to expect instead of arrogantly expecting me to follow you blindly.'

'Following is a valuable skill,' he took a healthy swig of Brandy and smirked coolly. 'Perhaps you should _learn_ it.'

'Perhaps you should learn to _lead_,' she countered, angrily.

'At least _I_ don't live my life under the illusion that the world is made of sugar drops! One day, when those rose tinted spectacles are ripped off, I want to be there to watch you _cry_.'

'I _don't_ have rose tinted glasses!' she hissed, exasperatedly. 'Don't make out I'm a stupid little kid!'

He leaned in.

'But you give me so much to work with!' his eyes travelled her, toe to face. 'A naïve, foolish, unworldly, unsophisticated little _girl_, convinced she can get by in the world by reputation alone!'

Her mouth fell open. 'That's rich coming from _you,_ you self-important, pompous, conceited, overbearing old goat! God, you're the most annoying man I've ever met!'

'Insufferable little swot,' he countered calmly.

'Ignorant, chauvinistic pig!' she stood up to face him.

'Insolent _wench_,' he hissed, so close to her face that she could feel his breath on her lips and smell the Brandy in his glass.

'Arrogant..._arsehole!' _she threw her hands up.

He smirked. 'Really, Miss Granger. Once you have to resort to expletives, the argument is plainly mine.'

Hermione bit back tears. He feigned surprised sympathy; 'Why Miss Granger, you look like you might cry. It seems my bite is worse than yours.'

Hermione shook her head vehemently.

'That's _not_ fair. This,' she gestured to her tear-filled eyes, 'Does _not_ mean you win. It just means you're willing to resort to childish tactics to get the last word and _I_ think, that's absolutely pathetic.'

Hermione stalked away. She's sooner that, than let Malfoy see her cry out the fear, panic and frustration.

**oOo**

Lucius lay in bed, twirling his fast warming toes gently against the sinfully expensive Egyptian cotton sheets, lulled into relaxation by the predictable, delicious movement. A jab of responsibility lanced through his heart when he remembered her beautiful, hazel eyes, full of tears. He'd never, ever admit it aloud but for a moment there in the study, he'd fought a valiant battle with the almost irrepressible urge to hug her. It wasn't that he wanted to be close for proximities sake. Her vulnerability reminded him terribly of Draco.

He regretted rarely showing the boy more love. A hug, a whispered encouragement. So much could have been different for their family if they'd been able to show how much they cared.

_Narcissa would have hexed me for using her natural emotions as a weapon_, he thought smugly. _A poor way to win an argument, _he admitted.

Lucius left his curtains open at night so the dawn woke him naturally. The snow came down in wild flurries. He wondered briefly if she'd reached her Safe House in one piece and fought the urge to care.

He remembered clearly the day the Dark Lord invaded Malfoy Manor. The final wall came crashing down when Draco crawled into his Father's arms and sobbed like a child. That night, when Narcissa came to bed, she found Father and Son entwined, still fully clothed, puffy-eyed and pallid, both exhausted. She crawled in with them and held Draco through his nightmares. Lucius woke to meet her glittering eyes over Draco's head. She wouldn't cry for fear of waking him.

In that silent exchange more was communicated than through a whole conversation. Lucius decided the Dark Lord could go to hell even if it cost he and Narcissa their lives but living without his only son simply was not an option. Lucius found his courage.

His urge towards the Granger girl wasn't quite so paternal.

**oOo**

Hermione startled awake to complete darkness. Kreacher had a nasty habit of extinguishing every oil lamp and every incantation she set up before bed to provide a night light. She hated total darkness. It reminded her of the time spent on the run, living in constant fear for her life. A fresh, cold draft blew under the bedroom door and gave her goosebumps. She sensed something was wrong.

'FIRE!' screeched Kreacher. '_My poor Mistress!_'

'Lumos!' Hermione snatched up her wand.

There was a sudden bump and a yell.

'BURGLARS! THIEVES!...' wailed Kreacher.

Footsteps chased mumbling and banging from one end of the house to the other. Cooking pots clanged on the bare stone floor and Kreacher smacked against the kitchen wall with a yelp. Hermione grabbed her beaded bag and coat and hauled the bedroom door open. Her wand-tip glowed with a cruel, painful jinx.

Black smoke wound in beautiful convections up the stairs to bounce off the ceiling. She choked as she staggered down the stairs and found the living room aflame. The fire spread too quickly to the parlour, crisping the oil paintings and consuming the ancient furnishings. Kreacher stumbled out of the dark kitchen doorway with blood on his head and murder in his eyes.

'Miss!' he yelled, as a figure dressed all in black spilled out of the first floor guest bedroom and pointed his short, twisted wand at her.

She let the hex go. He pitched forward with a scream and hit the ground floor with a heavy _thud_. Fire licked against his robes. Hermione spun to find a wand at her throat with no time to spare.

A surge of magic knocked the burly man into the wall. He left a smear of blood from his broken scalp as he slid down to pool at the radiator. Kreacher panted.

'Thank you,' Hermione whispered to him.

A third figure disapparated from the second floor bathroom with a pop. The wards screamed an alert. Kreacher ran frantically about the living room but for every pocket he put out, another sprang up. He stumbled on the edge of a smouldering rug, coughing and sputtering. The fire licked the ceiling and melted the plaster. It came drifting down like a rain of embers. He jumped around, patting himself desperately.

'Kreacher!' the heat was unbearable. '_Aquamente_!' she yelled, but the spell only doused the elf and she didn't know one to put out a whole house fire.

Defeated, she staggered down the front steps and bent double at the boundary fence to the park. She coughed until her spine hurt. Kreacher blinked into existence on the roadside, singed pink and dizzy. He fell to his skinny knees in the standing water and sobbed. She sensed it wasn't his own injury that upset him most. He gestured to the house like a preacher reaching for God.

'Granger!' Madeleine grabbed Hermione by the hand. 'Don't let go, for Merlin's sake.'

She disapparated. The Ministry Atrium was silent. Madeleine looked worn out, her grey hair loose and tousled. 'We need to get you to another safe-house, Miss Granger. Tonight,' Madeleine stepped forward. Hermione noticed the absence of Hex but didn't comment.

'What the _hell's_ going on?' Hermione whispered. 'Those wards should be impenetrable!'

'We don't know,' Madeleine said simply. 'That's Merlin's own truth, Granger. The Minister's waiting.'

**oOo**

Lackwit looked as tired as Hermione felt. He gestured to his guest chair when she entered.

'Have a seat Miss Granger. You've had a rough night.'

Fading adrenaline towed exhaustion in its wake. Lackwit's messy blonde hair fell into his eyes. He'd obviously apparated in to attend to this._ Probably doesn't want to front the blame if something happens to Hermione Golden Trio Granger._

'Sit down, Mads, for God's sake,' he sighed at the Auror. 'You're making me tired.'

Madeleine slid into a spare chair and waited. Lackwit knitted his fingers together on the desk and leaned forward. His sparkling blue eyes, dulled a little by tiredness always reminded Hermione terribly of Dumbledore.

'Lucius Malfoy, Miss Granger. Has he been cooperative so far?'

Hermione sensed this 3am question and answer session was about more than just the recent attacks on property and person.

'Well,' she licked her lips. 'To be honest, yes. He's a complete arse, obviously. And an intolerable snob, of course.'

Lackwit smiled apologetically. 'Aside from his personal character flaws. He's been otherwise...gentlemanly?'

'Yes,' she admitted. _Can I really blame him for fighting back when I shot the first hex? Best the Minister never finds out about that._

'I'm sure you know we have a very limited number of Safe Houses available. So far the strongest wards haven't kept this...group...out. People are still on edge, Miss Granger. Very few are brave enough to volunteer their homes. There are still plenty of Deatheaters out there, despite what the papers say. I think we should consider a different arrangement. Malfoy Manor is protected by very old, powerful magic. So powerful in fact, that when Lucius was sent to Azkaban we were unable to get inside to seize items of interest without his help,' admitting that seemed to trouble the Minister greatly but he continued; 'I understand you're still using the Malfoy library for private research?'

'Yes,' she said, with the sense that this was going nowhere she liked.

'Perhaps a brief stay at the Manor will give Potter's team the time required to complete investigations?'

'Is this really necessary, Minister? I already spend far too much time with Lucius Malfoy.'

'The Manor must be big enough for both of you,' Lackwith offered her a conciliatory smile. 'Besides. You do seem to be able to wear his temper. That's more I can say for most of the staff I've sent his way.'

He leaned back casually and hinted; 'I think some good publicity could go a long way for the Ministry at the moment. What do you say, Miss Granger?'

_Oh _**of course**, she thought in Lucius-esque sarcasm. _It'll reflect beautifully on Lucius to help out poor victimised Granger in her hour of need._ _You sneaky, Slytherin Ministry bastard._

'OK,' she tried not to sound ungrateful.

She couldn't shake the feeling she'd been somehow extorted, or at the very least, manipulated.

**oOo**

Hermione waited in the Atrium while the Minister arranged the terms. A moment later, Lackwit turned off his office light and came to join them. He handed Hermione a sighed parchment and nodded.

'All sorted, Miss Granger. The Floo is temporarily active at the Manor. Madeleine. Goodnight.'

He stepped into the fireplace and disappeared into the flames. Hermione was about to follow when Harry stumbled out of the next grate along with Kreacher in tow. He brushed soot out of his hair and adjusted his glasses.

'Harry!' Hermione hit him running and wrapped her arms around his neck. 'Oh God, I'm so sorry about your house!'

'I don't care,' he shrugged as he gave her a squeeze. 'Are you OK?'

'Fine,' she said softly. 'Just reeling. I've been moved to Malfoy Manor, Harry.'

He sighed and let her go.

'I know,' he admitted. 'It was the only place we could find with wards stronger than Grimmauld place. I'm sorry, 'Mione. I wouldn't like it either. On the up side, Malfoy did let us put an alarm on the house, so if anyone tries to force the wards, we'll know. Do you want me to come with you?'

'It's probably best I go on my own. He's actually atrociously moody when he's tired.'

Hermione bent down to look at Kreacher. The elf met her eyes very briefly before he stared resolutely at a paving slab.

'If it wasn't for you, I'd probably be dead. Thank you, Kreacher.'

He deeply considered his response before saying, with considerably less animosity than usual; 'Miss is welcome.'

She turned to the fireplace. Harry touched her arm.

'Hermione. What they're printing in the Prophet_ is_ nonsense, right?'

She gawped at him. Her eyes filled with tears.

'Harry, for God's sakes! I'm not even a little bit interested in Malfoy. How could you even _think _that?'

'I know,' he nodded quickly. 'I just want to be sure you'll be alright on your own with him. That's all. OK?'

She swallowed down her tears and nodded.

_'_You know where I am, right?'

She nodded. Hermione stepped into the Floo and waved him goodbye. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the feeling of deep, painful betrayal. _How could he believe that stupid rag of a newspaper? What a bloody swine!_

**OOo**

Her early morning Floo journey was much less uncomfortable than usual. _Perhaps the network is quieter_, she thought, as she stepped into the Malfoy foyer. The Manor was surprisingly warm. Lucius waited at the foot of the grand staircase in a dressing gown that looked as expensive as his dinner jackets. Hermione brushed the soot off her coat.

'Mr Malfoy,' she sighed. She offered him the scroll.

'Ah. This will be the indestructible edict,' he said drily. 'How considerate of the Ministry to provide a paper copy. Lest we forget our duties.'

'I know you probably don't like this-' she started.

'Probably?' he enquired coolly.

_'Fine_,' she spread her hands wide. 'I don't either, as it happens.'

'You might have mentioned that to _the lackwit_,' Lucius nodded.

'Actually, I did.'

He snorted. His eyebrow arched eloquently. 'What the Minister wants, the Minister gets, I'm afraid.'

'What he _wants_ is another of the Golden Trio on his books,' she said derisively.

'Quite,' he nodded. 'I believe he was in Slytherin.'

'I think he was,' she agreed lightly.

Misty apparated into their path, her big eyes wide with worry.

'Master! Will Miss be staying the night? Should Misty bring tea first?'

'Tea? At this hour?' Lucius snapped. 'Of course she's staying. _Do_ try and use your brain, Misty.'

'Oh!' Misty clapped both hands over her mouth. 'Misty must make up the guest bed!'

Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose.

'And?' he prompted coldly. Misty gaped at him in horror. '_Why are you still here!' _his shout echoed.

Misty squeaked in horror as she scrambled out of striking range and disapparated to find fresh sheets.

'I trust you remember the way?' he asked Hermione tightly.

'There _are_ quite a lot of rooms here, you know. All the doors look kind of the same,' she said innocently. She delighted in keeping him out of bed just a bit longer, as payback for his earlier rudeness.

He gestured to the stairs.

'If you would then, Miss Granger,' he said drily. 'I'd like to sleep tonight. At your convenience, _of course_.'

By the time they reached the guest room, Misty had replaced the sheets.

'Goodnight, Miss Granger,' Lucius said, a little snappishly.

Hermione dumped her beaded bag on the dark wood bedside table with a dull little _clunk_. She heard something tumble inside and guessed it was her copy of _Hogwarts; A History, _a memento that she felt she couldn't be without. She pulled off her coat. Her PJ's stank of smoke. She peeled them off and climbed into bed naked. She could smell the fire on her hair and skin but she didn't want the trouble of a wash tonight. She inhaled the smell of steam-cleaned laundry. With her wand stashed safely under her pillow, she fell instantly asleep.

**oOo**

Lucius was in the morning room with the Daily Prophet open on his crossed legs when Hermione joined him at Misty's insistence. Trouble awaited the House Elf who served breakfast in bed. Hermione didn't want to be the cause of Misty's suffering.

'Good Morning,' she said as she slid into her usual chair. _Silver cultery_, she thought critically. _A _**bit**_ extravagant for breakfast._

'Good morning,' he folded the paper and offered it to her. 'We made the third page, Miss Granger.'

She took it warily.

_...Golden Girl Granger persistently attracts trouble wherever she goes, this time, allegedly setting a Ministry Safe House on fire, causing substantial injury to a House Elf. Despite public protest, the Ministry continues to support Granger's work with Lucius Malfoy, once Deatheater, under the guise of rehabilitation, raising questions about Ministry spending..._

Hermione closed her eyes in irritation.

'Rita Skeeter deserves to be covered in honey and offered as a bee-keeper's assistant,' she scoffed.

Lucius gave a sudden, genuine smirk and agreed; 'I must say, she was most unhelpful during my divorce proceedings.'

'I was told Pureblood marriage can't be dissolved. I thought that was kind of romantic at the time.'

'In cases of infidelity I'm delighted to say that they can,' he smiled. '_Quite_ the scandal.'

He accepted his boiled egg.

'Misty, another cup of coffee,' he commanded brusquely.

Misty snapped her fingers to pour his drink.

'Did you hands drop off in the night?' Hermione asked darkly.

Misty hid a duplicitous smirk behind her hand and scampered out of view.

'If you don't mind, Miss Granger, half past seven is_ far_ too early for your impertinence.'

She ignored him in favour of her scrambled egg until he set down his napkin delicately and wrapped his fair, spidery hand around his cane.

'Miss Granger. There are a few...ah..._conditions_, shall we say, to your stay. House Rules, if you like. Firstly, you're not to set foot in the West Wing-'

She snorted.

'Sorry,' she muttered quickly. She sounded a bit insincere.

He affected the expression of the perpetually unimpressed. 'And _what_, may I ask, is so funny?'

'I don't suppose you've seen _Beauty and the Beast_?' she asked hopefully.

'What on_ Earth _is that?'

'It's er...a Muggle film. About a...girl and a...' she shook her head. 'Nevermind. The point is he says that to her.'

'How delightful,' he arched a brow. 'If I might continue?'

'Of course,' she forced herself not to smile. Misty peeked around the edge of the tablecloth with keen interest. Hermione avoided her eyes. There was a high chance of laughter, and later, rib pain, if the elf found this as funny as she.

'The elves will attend to your _reasonable_ needs. Do _not_ attempt to incite them to rebellion. There are plenty of unusual items around the Manor. Be careful what you touch. You may wish to consult myself, or an elf, before you become too curious about books in the Dark Arts section. Most are safe but I'd hate to make a guarantee.'

He took a breath.

'You're not to touch my desk. Or-' he held up a finger. 'Lay _one_ finger on my paperwork. My personal rooms are locked and warded. If I find you in there, the consequences will be...memorable. Breakfast is served at seven thirty, lunch at one, and dinner at seven.'

'OK,' she nodded. The urge to laugh subsided. His chilly gaze fell to her skin-tight jeans and fitted t-shirt.

'I...imagine...that at Hogwarts it was considered quite acceptable to wander around in those. Unfortunately, the last thing I require at this crucial juncture in my business dealings is for potential associates to imagine I've hired a Muggleborn secretary or worse, a _companion_ who flaunts her...derriere in tight clothing.'

'Excuse me!?' Hermione squawked.

'I think you understand me perfectly,' he closed his eyes softly. 'A dress would be most appropriate for company. _One that's cut below the knee._ Or at the very least, something that doesn't cling to your thighs so.'

She flushed. 'Don't you think that's a _bit _old fashioned!?'

'This is not a hotel, Miss Granger. Certain standards must be maintained. My associates have certain expectations and I will not have their sensibilities offended. Shoulder to knee is acceptable. Obviously, for formal occasions a bare back or shoulders are considered acceptable but only when you're accompanied by man-'

'_What?!_' she almost choked on her own tongue. 'That's absolutely archaic!'

'It's for your protection, Miss Granger. Honestly, did Hogwarts fail to cover basic Pureblood etiquette?'

He didn't wait for her to answer. 'Quite simply, If you choose to parade yourself in anything less, most Purebloods will assume I'm paying for your company and ask for your card. I doubt you desire that sort of reputation.'

She flushed so red she felt the heat.

'For dinner you'll require formal attire.'

'Every day?' she breathed, in horror.

'Of course,' he said, as if he'd never considered alternatives. _He'd have a conniption if he saw a Weasley mealtime._

'And Miss Granger. Take _those_ off,' he pointed to her trainers. 'They're quite ugly and they'll leave scuff marks on the polished floors.'

'Anything else?' she asked tightly.

'Yes,' he nodded. '_No takeaway_!'

'You're...joking,' she looked at him in confusion. 'How do you even know what takeaway is?'

'Do you honestly think that I'm _that_ ignorant?' he sneered. 'It's simply foul and the stench lasts for days. Under no circumstances.'

'Fine,' she sighed. 'Is that everything?'

He arched an eyebrow.

'No company.'

She closed her eyes in disgust. 'Maybe you could be a bit more specific, please?'

'Very well,' he leaned in. 'No friends, no parties and _certainly_,_ no boyfriends_.'

'Oh my God,' she breathed. 'I _really_ didn't need to hear that from you.'

He smirked. 'Don't mistake me, Miss Granger. I can't claim to care what you do with your own body. I'm more concerned for the safety and security of the Manor. Nor do I particularly want to...listen...' he grimaced.

'Is that everything?' she asked breathlessly.

'For now,' he nodded.

**oOo**

Hermione walked under the hospital hanging baskets, where tenacious Winter pansies bloomed brightly in adversity. She wondered if she should change her name to Pansy. It felt wonderful to be out and about and free of Lucius Malfoy, if only for the few hours it took to receive a skin treatment.

St Mungo's had an odd, tangy, familiar smell. Perhaps it was the disinfectant. It stuck in her throat and reminded her of half-waking days under anaesthesia after her burns. Lena was waiting for her behind her desk on the third floor. She showed Hermione into the familiar private cubicle and stood back with a smirk.

'The Prophet's had a lot to say about you recently, haven't they?'

Hermione shrugged off her cloak, feigning nonchalance.

'And almost all of it's lies.'

'It's not the first time, Hermione. Once they get hold of a juicy story, whether it's true or not-' she left it hanging.

Hermione smiled genuinely. She wasn't going to ask if Lena believed any of it because that could spoil her day. It was nice to sense her objectivity though.

'Glamours, if you would?' Lena prompted.

Hermione removed them with a flick of her wand.

'Well that shows a certain improvement,' Lena nodded. 'I've definitely seen worse, make no mistake. We might get them faded yet.'

Hermione didn't have to fake her enthusiasm. 'Really? I was starting to think i'll look like a pink and white tapestry forever. I _hate_ going out like this.'

'Understandable,' Lena nodded. 'Glamours put a lot of drain on your magic, actually. Maybe not so wise in your position. Lie down. I've been working on something with a burns specialist as it happens.'

Hermione thought the mirror was enchanted. She turned her head left and right, trying to get a clear glimpse of the scars. Lena had blurred the shiny, pink skin with healthy cells like an artist gone over a pencil drawing with a fingertip. The result was a slight pinkening of her throat and cheek that more closely resembled a permanent blush than a burn.

A thin sliver of skin was missing from her throat where Lena had simply extracted the worst of the crinkled scarring. It felt a little tight but Lena assured her that more skin would grow in time.

Her hairless, cling-film arms were smoother. Though she could still feel the lines, they weren't so pink.

'I think, given a few more sessions, this will disappear,' Lena gestured to her cheek. 'Your arms might be a bit more trouble but I think we can at least normalise the colour.'

'I can live with that,' Hermione laughed and impulsively threw her arms around the healer. 'Thank you so much.'

Lena grinned and hugged her back.

**oOo**

That afternoon, Hermione wandered the Manor. She didn't need to stray into the West Wing to walk a mile. She gazed down on the spacious gardens from a secluded bedroom on the third floor. Someone had set about them with cutters and begun to restore the estate to tidiness. Hermione would be pleased just to see the broken plant pots removed.

Beyond the frozen Malfoy lake stretched acres of green fields that lead down long, gentle banks to the snaking silver band of a river. There was a church-like folly on the hillside that instantly set off her curiosity. She saw the reflection of sunlight in glass panels behind a row of fir trees. _Probably greenhouses_, she thought. She could make out the shape of a distant, private family graveyard. Her breath fogged on the glass.

She discovered that the marble staircases weren't the only way up and down. There were four spiral staircases, one in each wing, like the one down which Lucius had lead her to torment her with the drawing room. Most of the doors were warded but she found back entrances to the library, wine cellar and bedrooms.

She accidentally opened the door to Lucius' study. When she saw him sitting at the desk in his shirtsleeves, _scritching_ away at his work she pulled the door closed as quietly as she could.

'Miss Granger,' he said, without looking up, as the latch clicked. 'Curiosity killed the Gryffindor Kitten!'

Hermione scampered away with a childlike smirk. She found the kitchen. Misty stood on a high stool at the counter, humming a tune as she happily chopped vegetables.

On the ground floor on the sunnier North side of the house, Hermione found an elaborate glass conservatory big enough to host a decent party. It was packed with flowers and warm-weather plants and protected by a thin shield charm. It was as warm as a summer day. Hermione wandered in and out of the flowerbeds, along the delicate gravel paths that lead to comfortable seating and an indoor fountain in the likeness of a tree. Water cascaded from the tips of coppery leaves and tinkled gently over clear, quartz stones. A swinging seat mounted on an ornate frame faced the expansive windows. She imagined reading on it and decided she needed to spend time in here soon.

She touched the fuzzy velvet leaves of a low-growing plant.

'If you've eaten all my strawberries, I shan't be happy,' Lucius took her off guard. She jumped.

'You get _happy_?' she murmured impulsively.

_'Do_ be careful with that razor wit, Miss Granger. You'll cut me to shreds,' he sneered. 'I have guests arriving in one hour. See that you're suitably attired by then.'

Rifling through her sparse collection of clothes left her pink-cheeked and irritated. She sat down with a huff. Defeated, she put her work clothes on and ran a cursory smoothing charm through her hair. She tugged the door shut with a bit more force than necessary and stalked down to lunch.

The library was occupied by a dark haired woman who was much skinnier than Hermione and her tall, massively round husband. Their son stared at Hermione in open, arrogant interest. A silent, predatory swan slid along a shelf of questionable titles, running delicate, white fingers along the wood.

_Checking for dust?_ Hermione wondered.

Her simple beauty was unencumbered by jewellery or - Hermione was disturbed to realise – makeup. She floated into the dining room when Misty called and cast a brief, appraising look at Hermione that flicked away without the barest hint of acknowledgement.

Hermione resisted the urge to smile as she followed. _Well well, Mr Malfoy_, she thought with rather cruel satisfaction. _If this is a date, you have a nasty surprise in store for you._

Hermione allowed Lucius to pull out her chair. She felt it was easier than the argument that would certainly ensue later if she refused. She focused on her food but it was the first time since being forced to watch Ron stuff his maw like a starving pig that she'd sat down to a lovely meal and not enjoyed a bite. The ten year old to her left required prompting from his Mother for everything. In the end his Mother relented and cut up his food for him. After that he ate like a garbage truck.

_Even _**I**_ can chew with my mouth closed,_ she thought, uncharitably. _That's more disgusting than Ron._ At least Ron didn't spray his food everywhere. When a sliver of roast chicken landed near Hermione's hand she put down her knife and fork.

She felt the weight of attention on her. When she finally became uncomfortable she looked for the culprit. She expected the gorgeous blonde's scrutiny, perhaps a non-verbal accusation for her presence. She didn't expect the strange, appraising gaze of Lucius Malfoy. He indulged the tiniest smirk.

Hermione hovered on the first floor landing, as close as she dared to go to the stairs and listened. The tiny, incompetent child and his parents were long gone and predictably, the _femme fatale_ hung behind to sneak in a few quiet words with Lucius. Hermione strained to hear them and wondered if the Manor would alert Lucius if she used magic to eavesdrop.

'-So sorry about your wife, Lucius-'

'-Expected-'

'-My Father would love to see you-'

'-The Ukraine is a long way, my dear, so early in my business dealings-'

Hermione scampered into the library ahead of him. She had a book open when she heard his footsteps, perfectly timed with his clicking cane. She sensed he was standing in the doorway.

'I must say, I do understand your lack of appetite,' he conceded lightly.

Hermione made a face. 'Honestly, that was the most _disgusting_ thing I've ever seen and I've eaten with Ronald Weasley.'

'Quite,' he nodded.

'He got it all over me,' she faked a shudder. 'Please warn me next time they're coming. I think I'll apparate to the nearest pizza shop.'

His lips turned upwards.

'How did the Lady Olena strike you, Miss Granger?'

She guessed, by his expression, that he already knew. _Shame,_ Hermione thought uncharitably._ It'd be fun to watch him figure **that** one out._

'Any _idiot_ could see she's a vampire.'

He grinned and played with the silver head of his cane.

'I do believe her Father hopes I'll fall hopelessly in lust with her fortune. What a disturbing thought. Even if I desired another _arrangement,_ her virulent lack of character is _quite_ off-putting.'

'Isn't that what you get for marrying for money?' Hermione prodded lightly. 'It's a very cold way to live your life.'

'It engenders lifelong happiness, Miss Granger,' he said sarcastically. He gestured to himself. 'Behold! Living proof!'

'I'm _not_ going to comment,' Hermione laughed.

'_Very_ diplomatic,' he smirked. 'I'm sure Misty would be only too happy to supply you with an...unpolluted...lunch, should you want it. I believe it's still warm.'

**oOo**

Her evening stolen by a sudden migraine. It began as a single point of throbbing pain behind her left eye and soon spread in a tight band around her skull. She stumbled to the loo, sweating and trembling and threw up. Every heave forced an agonising pulse into her brain. She managed to reach the library sofa where she lay down defeatedly to press her throbbing skull to the cool leather. She dozed, desperate to be asleep where it didn't hurt.

'Miss Granger?' Lucius' soft footfalls paused beside the sofa. He sighed; 'I imagine it didn't occur to you to take the potions _when the symptoms started_.'

'I-I forgot,' she mumbled.

Lucius rolled her unresistingly into his arms and lifted her. 'We must stop doing this,' his lips lifted in a dry smile.

She nodded as enthusiastically as she could and threaded an arm around his neck for fear he might drop her otherwise.

'It _hurts_. Flashes-' she whispered.

'Cover your eyes,' he suggested.

Hermione turned her face into his jacket. It helped past the bright windows.

He placed her on the soft, horizontal plain of her bed and closed the curtains with a flick of his wand. She squirmed.

'I'm going to be sick!' she rolled off the bed and ran for the en-suite.

She shivered violently, hugging the porcelain bowl for support. She'd never had an illness that made her feel so sick before, aside from that one unlucky time she'd acquired food poisoning from a seafood salad. The bathroom door opened gently. Lucius crossed the spacious room and crouched beside her with a hand on his cane. He held out the potions.

'How did you find them?' she asked quietly.

'You keep everything in that blasted purple bag,' he admitted. 'A simple _accio_, Miss Granger.'

She swallowed both and heaved. Lucius took hold of her gently and tilted her head back to touch his shoulder.

'Forgive me, Miss Granger,' he sounded genuine. 'I appreciate this may be somewhat...uncomfortable...for you. This used to help Narcissa.'

He stroked her hair. His gentle, rhythmic touch relaxed the muscles in her scalp and took some of the muscular ache away. She closed her eyes and tried not to question his motivation, or their proximity. _He's trying to help_, she realised. _He's actually being nice. Just this once, I won't look a gift-horse in the mouth._

He laid his cane aside and pressed a warm hand just under her left ribs, over her stomach. He rubbed soothingly until her deep muscles began to relax. The nausea abated by a fraction. It was less sexual than if it'd been Harry but it still felt very intimate, perhaps because Hermione couldn't remember ever seeing Lucius touch another person – not even Draco, unless it was with that awful cane.

'Swallow, Miss Granger. I think we should try and keep that potion down.'

She swallowed. 'Again,' he insisted, when she heaved. 'Again,' he said gently, near her ear.

He rubbed gently, scalp and belly, scalp and belly, until she leaned into his chest in relief.

'Any better?' he arched a brow in mild question.

'Yes,' she whispered. She sounded unusually vulnerable.

'A few moments more,' he continued stroking.

'Mmmm,' she acknowledged.

He offered up a tight little smile where she couldn't see it. 'I _do_ sympathise,' he said, genuinely.

Hermione relaxed.

'That's it,' Lucius cooed reassuringly.

_He sounds like Dad might if he had the poshest Slytherin accent _**ever**_,_ she thought. It wasn't unpleasant. He smelled like skin and expensive, spicy cologne. He was warm and solid and _human_. She missed her parents so much. She missed Ron's bear hugs. She missed being _held_. She felt a bit pathetic admitting to herself that she was lonely.

Lucius' gentle attention actually made her feel slightly nurtured and curiously safe. It gave rise to a powerful desire for more.

_Why shouldn't he care? _she reasoned more logically._ I could well be his key to freedom and he's not exactly going to jeopardise that, is he? He probably thinks he'll have better luck in my reports to the Ministry if he's nice to me occasionally. _

'Up you get,' Lucius encouraged. He helped her to her feet slowly and holding her arms, lead her to the bed.

He removed her shoes with warm, gentle fingers and pulled the blankets up.

'Thanks-' she murmured.

The door clicked shut softly behind him. She buried herself in the eiderdown and dropped off quickly.

**oOo**

The sun streamed through her open bedroom curtains. Misty had obviously been in while she slept. The pain left behind an unpleasant queasiness and a slightly confusing, muzzy feeling. Hermione felt unsteady on her feet. She took a brief shower in the decadent en-suite and a leisurely walk up to the Morning Room. She wasn't concerned that she was already late. Lucius had finished his Daily Prophet and his breakfast but was disinclined to move.

'Would Miss like her usual breakfast?' Misty squeaked.

'Please, Misty,' Hermione smiled.

'How are you feeling, Miss Granger?'

'A bit muzzy,' she admitted. 'Much better though. Thanks to you,' she smiled, a tiny bit uncomfortably. 'And I was _so_ sure you didn't care,' she risked teasing him.

He arched a brow but she sensed it was good humoured for once.

'It would hardly do to have you wind up back in St Mungo's, would it?'

She smirked. 'That _would_ put a crimp on your social calendar,' she agreed playfully.

'Indeed.'

Hermione reached for the coffee pot.

'Ah, ah, ah, Miss Granger!' Lucius snatched it out of reach. 'Coffee could trigger a recurrence. Did you actually _read_ the pamphlet? We have an evening affair to attend tonight. It would be helpful if you were fully recovered by then.'

Misty returned with scrambled egg and a glass of pumpkin juice.

'Formal?'

'Naturally.'

She sighed. 'I need to going shopping, then. I don't want to end up transfiguring my work robes _again_.'

Misty watched Hermione keenly. Hermione stuffed a forkful of breakfast into her mouth to appease her.

'Is whatever I buy going to end up ruined by flying hexes?' she asked drily, 'Or ripped when we have to run for it?'

His hand covered hers abruptly. It sent an unexpected jolt up her spine. _Oh Merlin's balls, I'm attracted to him! _

'Do you require Misty to cut that for you, Miss Granger? The scraping is _intolerable_.'

'No. _Thank you,'_ Hermione said, with false sweetness.

'Something practical,' he finally said, 'And tasteful.'

**oOo**

Hermione treated herself to a sparse covering of understated makeup. She smiled at herself in the walk-in wardrobe mirror when it became clear that she no longer needed the glamour on her face. She piled her hair up and shimmied into an elegant black evening gown, acquired earlier from a pricey dress shop that she'd always wanted an excuse to visit.

If her gown survived the night, she'd use it for future events. She slid her feet into her black flats. Under duress she could hike up the elegant skirts and run for it. Not that she wanted anyone to see _that. _

Lucius waited in the foyer with his hair drawn back into a green ribbon which matched his waistcoat. His robes and cloak were nothing but the finest black fabric and silk-lined to boot. Hermione resisted the urge to inch self-consciously into view and feigned all the confidence she'd need. She took the marble steps slowly. Lucius's lips turned up in a little smirk. His discerning gaze travelled over her up-do and the few, sparse curls tickling her neck and face. Down the tasteful neckline, over her hips and down the leg that emerged from the knee-high split. He stared at her flats as though affronted.

'No, no. This won't do at all,' he tutted.

She folded her arms uncomfortably. He whipped out his wand and pointed it at her feet.

'Hold still, for Merlin's sake, or it'll be your feet I hit, not your shoes!'

She held her breath anxiously as he transfigured them into heels comprised of thin, glittery black straps. She stood a few inches taller when Lucius came to measure her against his shoulder. Satisfied, he sheathed his wand.

'This probably _isn't_ a good idea. I'm actually terrible in heels. I only wear them when I don't have to walk far.'

He gestured expectantly to the foyer. She sighed. The first hint of unsteadiness earned her a sigh. The second, a tut. She spun.

'Let's see you do it better!'

'_Never_ outside the Manor,' he smirked. He cast a stabilising charm and slipped his wand back into his cane. Resigned, she tested them again.

'Better,' she admitted grudgingly.

'Good,' he smirked triumphantly. 'Miss Granger. The event we're to attend is being hosted by none other than Francis Delamere.'

_'The_ Delamere?' she queried quickly. 'The owner of Sine Diagnostics? As in...the patent holder of the Sine Test for Squibbery?'

'The very same. A recent merger with his German competitor has given him monopoly of the European market. He's also a qualified Potions Master.'

Hermione tilted her head back and sighed.

'Oh my God. I'm such an idiot! Why didn't I think of it sooner?'

Lucius arched a brow. 'Delamere has always been law abiding, even during the Dark Lord's reign. I doubt _anyone_ would suspect him, Miss Granger. The Minister was very reluctant to grant us this investigation. I must say, I'll be surprised if Delamere has willingly come so close to Ministry affairs. He's certainly no Deatheater and he always struck me as a subtle, clever man.'

They apparated to the Delamere estate. Her head spun from the pull and tug of his mental suggestions on direction. The driveway was illuminated by floating candles. They resisted the chilly breeze that disturbed the dry leaves at her feet. She bent to fiddle with one of her heel straps uncomfortably.

_'Merlins-'_ he hissed._ 'Don't_ bend over like that!'

She rolled her eyes.

'You could just not look!' she countered. 'Merlin, they're cutting my toes off!'

_'Try_ to be graceful, Miss Granger, though I appreciate that might be asking a bit much-'

'I think I can manage,' she said defensively.

He offered his arm.

'And _do_ try not to maul anyone,' he added.

'I'll _try,_' she smirked.

'Mmm,' he made a noise of agreement.

A comfortable silence descended between them. Hermione found it reassuring. She didn't notice his brief, appreciative glance at her waist as they were welcomed at the door.

* * *

><p>TBC...soon ;)<p> 


	6. The Company of Snakes

****A/N - Hi folks :) Apologies for the wait! This chapter has given me a lot of grief. Hopefully the next one won't be such a challenge. I think I've got it subdued now. ****

**Extra special thanks (and e-cookies!) to those who left a review, and thanks to all who followed and favourited! It's easier to keep writing when you know people want to read!**

* * *

><p><span>6. The Company of Snakes<span>

Hermione stole a glance at Lucius in the light of the great, central chandelier. He was uniquely handsome, his luscious hair as soft as silk and his formal robes as expensive as her monthly rent. The Delamere ballroom swam like the surface of a very upmarket lake with every colour and texture of glittering bird available. She felt a little under-dressed, like a swan beside a peacock. Lucius caught her staring. His lips lifted into a tiny smirk. She couldm't help but feel he'd read her mind. She flushed prettily and turned her face to a tall, Gothic window.

The gardens were lit with flickering, levitating candles. Guests wandered them like colourful shadows in a black and grey world. Lucius moved closer to her back to speak softly in her ear. She felt he was a little too close when she smelled his spicy, delicious cologne. Her head spun. He touched her elbow lightly to catch her attention and a rash of goosebumps appeared on the sensitive tricep skin. She gave a little, tell-tale jump of surprise and turned to him wide-eyed.

'_Do_ try to relax, Miss Granger,' he said, his grey eyes watching from under heavy lids. She felt his dry comment was there to mask a deeper feeling and she wondered if he found her beautiful. He arched a brow. 'I doubt anyone will try to do away with you tonight.'

Lamplight washed over his face from a nearby, enchanted sconce, chasing away the evening shadows. He looked ethereal with his fine cheekbones up-lit as though he were a statue come to life for a single evening.

'I'm fine,' she said, embarrassed by her own, unpredictable reactions. 'It's just a bit warm in here.'

'You could try a cooling charm,' he suggested, a bit scornfully.

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes because as usual, she felt he was deliberately impugning her skill as a Witch.

'Just because I can use magic, doesn't mean I need to whip my wand out for everything!' she snarked.

_Thank You, Molly!_

'Go ahead and roast then,' he chuckled, in that haughty, false way she remembered from the Quidditch World Cup.

'I will,' she said darkly.

The two beautifully ornate rooms that attached to the ballroom boasted roaring fires large enough to incinerate an unwary wizard. Chaises and chairs were laid around and attendants circulated with bowls of fruit and silver trays of sweet and savoury, decadent snacks. Hermione envied the beautiful fowl that flocked there, their exquisite plumage reflecting the dancing firelight and their animated chatted. Lucius kept her standing. He accepted two glasses of champagne from a passing silver tray and handed one to Hermione.

'Ah,' Lucius said, pleased with a discovery. 'Do you see the pasty, grey haired little fellow behind the pillar?'

'Yes.'

_'That_ is Mercy Brockelfort. Fortuitous that he should be here. He might be useful,' Lucius leaned down to whisper intimately in her ear pointedly; 'Sine Diagnostics majority shareholder and co-director of the company. Much to lose _there_, Miss Granger.'

Lucius added in soft, regal expectation; 'Stay where I can see you.'

She felt as if he was talking to a child.

Dancers twisted and gyrated on their low podiums. Most were dressed in enough feathers to cover their vital anatomy. Hermione gazed a bit too long at a buxom, black-haired beauty who noticed her audience and interpreted it as interest. She smiled warmly and offered a sensual hand, a tempting invitation. Hermione flushed a bit pink and looked away. Lucius smirked at her discomfort as he guided her through the crowd.

'_I_ thought this was supposed to be a _dignified_ affair,' Hermione breathed.

Lucius arched an eyebrow. 'I never imagined you to be so prudish. I would certainly like to _dance_ with her.'

'There's a man in a white suit watching us,' Hermione said suddenly.

'Ah. That would be Francis Delamere,' Lucius said mildly. 'Shall we?'

Delamere was getting old but he'd once been a very handsome man. His strong chin and a well proportioned face were pitted with the scars of childhood pox and weathered with age lines. There was a telling band of pale, bare skin around his ring finger which suggested recent removal. His sparse, jet hair was combed over to the side to cover growing baldness. He had the eyes of a shrewd, intelligent rat. He was tall and still strong. Hermione felt instantly uncomfortable under his attention, as though her soul were suddenly heavy. Delamere bore the long-healed glossy red marks of old potions burns, certainly the result of experimentation. His white suit and red tie were completely out of place and yet he occupied his space with an air of absolute conviction that reminded her of Lucius and his legendary arrogance.

'Well!' he declared, as he clasped Lucius' hand in a businesslike shake. 'Lucius. What a surprise.'

His smile didn't reach his eyes. _This one's dangerous_, thought Hermione. She did a double take at his boots. They were made of albino dragon hide.

'Francis,' Lucius nodded.

Delamere cast eyes over Lucius once, head to toe then he flicked away an imaginary insect.

'Who is your beautiful companion? It's high time we saw you with a young lady.'

'Miss Granger,' said Lucius stiffly. 'My assistant. Temporarily.'

Delamere brushed a dry kiss onto her knuckles that lasted a bit longer than was really polite.

'You certainly drew the short straw, Miss Granger. Are you an Auror? I hear Mr Potter's doing very well for himself, these days.'

Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that he knew a lot more than he let on.

'Harry's ambitious,' she said. 'I took a different route. I'm a _bit_ more academic than Harry. Or Ron.'

'Really, how so?'

'I'm a researcher,' she said. She knew she was poking around in the gold, hoping not to wake a dragon. '_Actually_, at the moment, I'm looking for the cure for Squibbery.'

The gossamer shadow of irritation floated over Delamere's face but it was quickly controlled with an indulgent, false smile.

'I don't know,' he shook his head. 'I imagine high profile companies are clamouring one over the next to recruit you and you choose to spend your time with _squibs_?'

'People who had their magic _stolen_ by _criminals,'_ she said, a bit bossily._ '_They deserve an _attempt_ at a normal life.'

'So_ this_ is Ministry rehabilitation?' Delamere addressed Lucius. 'An rather expensive project, in the current financial climate.'

Hermione bit her tongue. _He's belittling me by pretending I'm not worth a reply. What an _**_arsehole._ **

'I think the Minister feels public money is better spent on rehabilitation than on feeding and keeping convicts who could otherwise be of use to society,' Hermione made it sound innocent.

'A fine ambition, Lucius,' he nodded doubtfully.

'A necessary one,' said Lucius coldly.

Hermione swallowed her anger. An elaborate beauty slid through the crowd and took Delamere's arm. She wore the finest gown on offer and a cake of make-up to hide the truth of her age. She was no more than fourteen.

'Uncle!' she smiled. 'I thought I saw you over here and I simply had to come and see what you're upto!'

'My niece. Miss Bishop,' Delamere said, unenthralled.

'Please, call me Esme,' she blushed when Lucius kissed her hand.

Little curls of dark hair tickled Esme's nape. Hermione instantly envied her porcelain skin.

'My Father is staying here for a few weeks before he returns to France,' she told them. 'He managed to convince me to stay with Uncle for a while. I think he's grown tired of my company! He says I talk him to sleep but I really can't see why. He normally loves a good conversation!'

'Esme-' Esme didn't register Delamere's warning tone. _Obviously selectively deaf, _thought Hermione.

'Though I'll catch up with Father in the Spring, no doubt,' Esme went on, quickly. 'Uncle has promised to teach me about the finances of a larger estate. I plan to apply for business school!'

'That sounds...exciting,' Hermione said uncomfortably.

'What do you do, Miss Granger?'

'I'm a researcher. Medicine.'

'How exciting! Though I don't think I could stand to look down a microscope all day and I have such a _terrible_ bedside manner!'

Francis' barely disguised annoyance was obvious to everyone except Esme. He tugged her away and whispered an encouragement that Brockelfort would appreciate her attention. She left with a happy wave that reminded Hermione of Luna.

Delamere smiled. It was like watching the Devil take off his mask at the end of masquerade, only to realise he'd been charming you all evening.

'Excuse me.'

He disappeared into the crowd. Hermione glanced at Lucius. He was pensive and clearly irritated.

'That was...rather telling,' she observed.

'Quite,' he murmured.

**oOo**

Brockelfort navigated the colourful throng with a pensioner's steely determination. He stepped free of the floor and adjusted his spectacles. The lenses were as thick as Hermione's wand. He was a hunched man who had once been quite tall. He was carrying a little extra weight around the belly but curiously, there was no sign of a walking stick. A solid gold pocket-watch chain dangled out of his waistcoat.

'My my! Lucius Malfoy!' he exclaimed. 'This _is_ unexpected! We were all under the impression you were-' he hesitated, trying to think up a polite way to say _locked in a cell_. 'Indisposed!'

'I'm quite well, I assure you, Mercy.'

'Is this your wife?' Brockelfort turned to Hermione. His lenses were very thick. 'Oh dear me, no. I can see that you certainly aren't Narcissa! A pleasure to meet you.'

He kissed her hand with damp lips.

'I am Mercy. Mercy Brockelfort,' he smiled. 'Lucius and I are old acquaintances. Our Fathers, may they rest in peace, used to hunt together! Do you still have the hounds, Lucius? Those beautiful, crimson eyed beasts. What were their names?'

'Adder and Arrow,' Lucius supplied. 'Both very much alive.'

'Goodness me!' Brockelfort exclaimed. 'How lovely! I should like to see them, some time! I'm afraid we lost their dear Mother...Silver was quite my favourite bitch. Lucius we must have a drink and reminisce. What do you say?'

'I'd be delighted,' Lucius said lightly. Hermione found it easier to relax around Brockelfort, who had a kindly way about him.

'You must bring your young...ah...acquaintance! I'll wager I could tell her a few tales of your youth.'

Lucius stiffened. 'Now, now. We wouldn't like to turn Miss Granger prematurely grey, Mercy.'

'I think I'll brave a few grey hairs for_ that_!' Hermione laughed at his discomfort.

'I await your pleasure, then,' Brockelfort nodded, pleased to stay and bend their ears about the notable and beautiful paintings scattered around the ballroom walls.

**oOo**

Hermione's head spun from all the noise and activity. The murmur of constant conversation grated on her nerves. She didn't enjoy crowds anymore. Not after the Quidditch World Cup. She wanted to keep checking behind her. The conversations she endured on Lucius' arm were very dull and she felt as though the envious, more beautiful women judged her without a trial.

_Maybe being on an ex-Deatheaters arm is trial enough,_ she thought uncomfortably.

She knew she ought be paying closer attention to what was being said but her old leg wound was aching from standing too long in heels and she was suddenly much too warm in the confined space. She wafted herself.

'I need to get outside for a minute.'

Lucius cast her an expression of mild concern and willingly released her hand from the crook of his arm. She made her way through the crowd towards the packed veranda.

'Poor girl looks positively ill,' commented a bejewelled elderly lady to her dark-haired niece, smugly. 'How _unfortunate_. I do hope it's _easily rectified_, Mr Malfoy.'

Lucius' lips thinned in displeasure at the obvious insinuation that his "assistant" was in delicate condition.

'I'm inclined to agree with her,' he said haughtily. 'It's _most_ uncomfortable in here.'

The old woman pouted, infuriated with his veiled insult and the niece, for all that she was clearly expected to be the model of proper conduct, hid a smirk behind her fan.

**oOo**

Hermione wandered off the veranda, finding it too close-packed for comfort. She found a set of weathered stone steps that lead down to the gardens. There was a dark alley beside the house, just wide enough for the grounds-keeper and his wheelbarrow. It was little more than a dirt track and still damp with recent snow. She slid into the shadows of the covered entryway and cast a quick drying charm on the ground. She pulled off her shoes with a huge sigh of relief and leaned on the wall.

A warm-blooded shadow made its presence known by touching her elbow. She gasped in fright.

'Miss Granger,' purred Lucius. 'What _are_ you doing?'

'Will you _stop_ sneaking up on me!' she snapped as she spun to face him. 'Honestly, I could've hexed you!'

He glanced at her feet pointedly. He arched a brow.

'They hurt!' she said defensively. 'In fact...I think they might be cutting off my feet.'

A distant, quiet conversation snatched her attention. Two figures stood silhouetted in the light of the driveway candles. She could see Delamere's white suit. She tugged her shoes on roughly and snatched Lucius by the hand. '_Come on!' _she whispered.

They went as far as they could without leaving the shadow of the gardeners path. Lucius leaned close to her back to take advantage of the shadows. She could feel his body-heat.

_'Use disillusionment_!' Lucius breathed in her ear. Goosebumps raced down her neck at the almost-touch of his lips.

'Have her close the wound, then!' hissed Delamere. 'We'll just have to wait a few more days. If it dies while she's collecting-' his voice faded out of hearing range. Brockelfort's lips moved soundlessly in reply.

_I wish I had an extendable ear_, Hermione thought desperately.

'The concealment _will_ hold,' Mercy insisted, with none of his trademark smile or twinkle. 'I cast it myself. She's _useless.'_

'She only needs _one_ qualification-' Delamere voice faded as they passed the alley-mouth on their way back to the party.

Hermione drew in a quick breath and held it. Delamere stopped. Lucius' hand tightened on her elbow. She closed her eyes as Delamere searched the dark. His eyebrow twitched. He turned away.

'_Finite Incantatem!_' she whispered in relief.

She looked up as Lucius was unveiled from the spell.

_'That_ was a bit close for comfort,' she said.

'Indeed.'

'They _can't_ be holding one here?'

'If they're involved, it makes perfect sense,' Lucius smirked. 'How lucky that I primed Mr Potter's department tonight.'

'I swear, if Esme Bishop doesn't have something to do with this, I'll eat my own hair,' Hermione said softly. 'Did you see the amount of make-up she's wearing?'

'What of it?'

'Honestly,' she shook her head at him. 'Isn't it _obvious_? She's trying to look older than she is!'

'Wouldn't an ageing potion do just as well?' he asked in confusion.

'Yes,' she frowned softly. 'But they can be unpredictable and if she was caught with a trace in her blood. I don't think she'd take that risk. How much are you willing to bet she's-' Hermione whispered a bit uncomfortably. 'A virgin?'

'Would you like me to find out?' he arched a brow.

'Actually, yes. Meanwhile, I'm going to keep that kindly old codger talking. He's _not_ what he seems.'

Lucius straightened.

'Quite. I shall circulate and see what information I can extract. Don't stray far,' he warned her, with a gesture to his wrist. 'After dinner, at exactly quarter to nine, excuse yourself to powder your nose. I'll be waiting in the closet near the convenience.'

**oOo**

Hermione found a place to sit between two old ladies who'd come to the party together. They knew a great deal about the Delamere estate, the estranged wife and daughter, the history of the house and even the staff.

'Word has it, she left when he began experimenting with his potions!' said the eldest, to which the younger nodded. 'Took their daughter, and went with a working man.'

Hermione spied Lucius by the edge of his platinum hair as he tugged a blushing, babbling Esme into a little hollow of darkness on the veranda. He leaned close to whisper to the girl and Hermione caught the edge of Esme's nervous hand sliding around his neck. A little jolt of annoyance shot through her belly. She wasn't sure why.

Hermione pushed open the door to the dining hall and crept inside. There was already a huge fire roaring in the hearth and in the adjoining serving room, she could hear the clink of cutlery and glasses and the soft voices of House Elves preparing to serve dinner.

She was alone. She searched for her name-tag. Brockelfort was five seats away, on the same side._ That's not very conducive to dinner conversation_, she thought. She swapped his tag with the man next to her.

'Miss is too early!' squeaked a tiny, bossy House Elf unhappily.

Hermione spun. An elf in a monogrammed pillowcase regarded her levelly, its skinny arms folded.

'Oh!' Hermione smiled disarmingly. 'I'm so sorry, I must have wandered in here by accident!'

She let herself out. The elf gave a minute shake of disapproval as the door closed with a _click_.

**oOo**

Hermione made a point of searching for their seats. Lucius pulled out her chair. She sat when it touched the back of her knees gently. As he slid into his seat, his dress robes parted to reveal the tight fitting jacket beneath. It accentuated his trim chest and broad shoulders and made her feel a bit too warm.

'And?' she prompted him. He leaned in. The scrape of chairs covered their words.

'Yes,' he gave her a tight smile. His grey eyes sparkled with dangerous intent. 'Though she's most easily tolerated when her mouth is occupied.'

Hermione closed her eyes in clean, obvious discomfort.

'_Nice_,' she said sarcastically.

Hermione learned more about Brockelfort's eldest son, their home in Hampshire, his heritage and even his collection of antique thimbles than she did about criminal activity of any sort. The clock ticked through a divine starter during which Lucius once refilled her glass. The wine went to her head. She topped up the half remaining with water.

'Would you believe, my wife enjoys it exactly the same way!' Brockelfort snatched her out of her thoughts. She worked to catch up with the conversation. At her politely blank expression he gestured to her wine.

'Oh!' she smiled as genuinely as she could. 'I don't suffer as much in the morning.'

'Quite right!'

_Sweet Merlin somebody get me out of here before I die of an overload of polite conversation! _

'One of my favourite books as a child was The Stinging Tree!' Brockelfort replied, a little over-excitedly to the woman opposite.

She wasn't much older than Hermione. She had the unmistakeable expression of Pureblood superiority. _I wonder if it's a genetic. __Honestly, if she wore any _**more**_ diamonds she'd be a walking liability to theft and extortion!_

'A popular childhood favourite,' the woman replied snidely.

Hermione had read almost every book, adults, children's, fact or fiction that Hogwarts could provide and almost everything else she had time for.

'I love that story!' she caught Brockelfort's attention once again. 'When I first came to Hogwarts I was absolutely fascinated with magical creatures! _Especially_ dragons.'

'A dangerous sport!' Brockelfort indulged her happily, pleased by the way she flashed the tiniest amount of cleavage and played with her hair.

_Funny, this used to work on Ron too, _she thought. _And every other guy I've dated. _

'I desperately wanted to see a Hinkypunk!' Hermione smiled.

'You have a taste for the risky!' Brockelfort chuckled.

'_And_ a unicorn. Though I think every girl wants _that_.'

His mouth went dry. His eyes glazed over in blind ecstasy as he imagined her riding one. _One leg on each side. _

'Silly, isn't it?' Hermione feigned innocence. It worked. Brockelfort swallowed loudly.

'No,' he said quite seriously. 'No. That's not silly at all.'

Esme gazed longingly at Lucius when she thought Hermione wasn't looking. She did feel a bit sorry for using the girl.

She and Lucius both chased down roast duck with chocolate cake.

'What a delightful evening,' Brockelfort patted his belly contentedly. 'Then again, Francis always did know how to throw a party!'

'How long have you known him?'

'Oh, as long as I remember! An old family friend. It wasn't until we met again at University that we became firm friends, though.'

Hermione smiled.

'I don't know why, I was under the impression he worked for you. Or you worked for him...I'm not sure.'

'Whatever made you think that?'

'I don't know,' she smiled apologetically. 'Sometimes I can just...tell things about people. Isn't that weird?'

He hesitated. Then he admitted;

'You must have a sixth sense then! Very astute of you. Very astute indeed. We do work together, sometimes. Very similar interests, you see.'

Hermione gave a light, elegant shrug. 'You see? I have _no_ idea how I do that!'

'You're a very unusual young lady, aren't you?' Brockelfort's eyes were hungry.

Hermione flushed, but completely for the wrong reasons. The back of his gnarled fingers brushed her thigh. She fought not to squirm. _Just wear it for five minu_t_es_, she assured herself. _It's almost quarter to anyway._

'A very unusual young lady indeed,' he smiled. Hermione spied the metal loops of false teeth and tried very hard not to cringe.

_The first time I kiss a man with false teeth,** I'd** better be eighty_, she thought.

'You know, you're not the first young lady to confide in me her desire to see the most majestic...of all magical creatures.'

'Really?' Hermione tried to hold her ground confidently as she felt Lucius leave behind her.

'Mmm,' he nodded indulgently.

His knuckle slid a bit higher. Hermione's breath seized. Disgust welled in the pit of her stomach.

'Excuse me, please. I need to powder my nose.'

She was out of her seat before he could say a word, dodging through bodies to reach the loo. She fled to the hallway and calmed her shaking hands. Lucius pulled her into the dark of the broom closet. She lit the tip of her wand as she caught herself on the metal storage racking. She kicked a tin bucket aside lightly before she could accidentally put her foot in it.

'Do you _have_ to do that without giving me some warning!?' she hissed.

Lucius laid a warm, dry finger on her wrist and delicately pushed her wand aside until it was no longer pointed at his face.

'Sorry,' she lowered it. 'You startled me.'

She bent to fiddle uncomfortably with her shoes. He ignored the view down the front of her dress, revealing a black lacy bra. He caught her hand when she swayed. _Well,_ he thought. _The girl is nicely endowed. Neither too big or too small._

'What happened? Did he tell you anything?'

'It's not what he _told_ me,' she straightened uncomfortably, tugging her dress back into position. 'Merlin's _beard,_ you didn't tell me he was such a letch! He's worse than Ron. I didn't sign up for this to get touched up by filthy old men!'

'Calm down,' he purred. 'He won't do more than pinch your behind in here.'

'Yes, well, I'd rather he didn't even do _that,_' she said hotly. 'But _no_, to answer your question. Though he had a funny reaction when I mentioned Unicorns.'

'Tell me you weren't _that _overt,' Lucius sighed, despairingly.

'Of _course_ not,' she sighed, as if he was an idiot for asking. 'He mentioned a children's book...it just came up in conversation, alright?'

She pulled out a compact mirror out of her black velvet bag and held it up.

'I look a fright!' she cried.

'Keep your voice down,' he hissed.

Hermione went fishing for her make-up supplies and setting the rolling lipstick tube on the nearest shelf, she set about fixing her face.

'What did _you_ find out?' she asked.

'Delamere owns the forest just off the estate. It's certainly worth a look.'

'You know...when I mentioned the Unicorns...he said something strange. "You're not the first young lady to confide in me her desire to see the most majestic of all magical creatures," she parroted. I think that's a bit of a strange thing to say, don't you? What kind of old man goes around asking girls their fantasies?'

Lucius said nothing. Hermione instantly thought of Esme. She tried to put that image out of her head. The glossy red lipstick travelled around her lips until they took on an unnatural fullness. Lucius watched it, captivated by the way her flesh sprang back after the pressure. She screwed the cap back on and stashed it away, oblivious to his sudden attention.

'Wait,' he said, impulsively. He reached up and dragged a curl forward, then eyed her appraisingly. 'No, that's not it.'

His fingertips brushed her forehead as he pulled a pin from her hair, rearranged a few stray strands and slid the pin back into place gently. His gaze fell to her mouth, now as red as an open rose. _My favourite colour, too,_ he thought. Their eyes locked. She flinched at a sudden thump from outside.

'Miss Granger,' Lucius drawled. 'I believe we may have company.'

'Yes, probably some of those old women who wanted to know all about us-' she said uncomfortably. 'Are people_ always_ so nosy at these parties?'

He reached for the shelf system behind her and gave it a gentle push. It rattled. His smirk grew.

'Play along,' he prompted.

'Please tell me you don't want me to make the noises as well,' she bent to grab the mop and bucket.

'No, that's quite unnecessary. Just make it obvious we're in here alone. Together. A few minutes should do it.'

_'Wow,_' she arched an eyebrow.

'Now, now, Miss Granger,' he was glad of the dark. He didn't want her to see his blush. 'We mustn't comment on things we know nothing about.'

**oOo**

Lucius listened at the door. Silence on the other side. Someone had been listening in, he knew it.

'They're gone,' he whispered. He gestured to her with his free hand. 'Come, Miss Granger. A walk.'

Hermione sighed. 'I really can't see what good that'll do. These horrible shoes are already rubbing me raw!'

_'Do_ stop complaining,' he drawled. He slid into the hall and tugged her along. 'They're certainly an improvement on those ugly plimsolls.'

'I don't see what my choice of shoes has to do with _you_!' she hissed, as he wrapped an arm casually around her waist.

'Everything when we have to be seen together!'

He drew her out into the gardens.

'You're positively shallow!' she resisted the urge to fold her arms petulantly.

'I simply appreciate beauty.'

'So do I!' she countered hotly.

'Well, we differ somewhat in our perception, then,' he guided her towards the path where a patch of lantern light provided a spotlight. 'Now. Come a bit closer.'

'I think we're close enough.'

His lips thinned. 'Will you please...just..._trust me_?' he ground out.

'Fine,' she sighed, and took a tentative step closer.

'_Closer_ Miss Granger, for Merlin's sake. I don't bite.'

Her skin sensitized suddenly when he brushed her cheek with the back of his finger.

'How romantic,' she scoffed in a whisper. 'Shagging in a closet followed by a moonlight walk and a quick grope...really, how could a girl ask for more?'

'You're sarcasm is_ most_ distracting,' he breathed. 'It's called jealousy, Miss Granger. Despite the fact I'm certain Mercy would need to use his wand for more than incantations in the unlikely event you did succumb to his...charms...I doubt that'll dissuade him from trying,' he arched a brow pointedly.

Hermione shuddered.

'I am_ not_ getting close to him again.'

'You are going to use your feminine charms to our best advantage,' he informed her arrogantly.

'Good luck with that,' she breathed. 'I've been looking for them for years.'

_'Do_ be quiet,' he said softly. 'He's watching us now. Miss Granger? Do you think you could at least _look_ like you're enjoying this? It's quite a necessary part of the illusion.'

'Sorry,' she muttered.

His fingertip toyed with a curl of her hair. He wrapped a warm arm around her waist. She was suddenly just the right temperature. _He's like a radiator_, she thought._ I've never known a man put out so much body-heat._ It reminded her of both the duel and the bathroom incident and she wasn't sure whether to be anxious or relaxed.

'Ah, here he comes,' Lucius said. 'Go! Draw him towards the lake. Think,_ temptress_, Miss Granger.'

_'Fine,_' she breathed.

Hermione walked the candlelit path down to the lake alone. It was too dark for comfort by the water. Jagged stones ran around the edge to alert unwary feet and the floating candles that illuminated the vast pond dripped occasional globs of wax onto the glassy surface, sending ripples chasing their forefathers. It didn't take long before she heard shuffling footsteps.

_This is a game of cat and mouse._ _And I'm the mouse. God, why am I doing this?_

She turned her back to the house and resisted the urge to check her wand.

'Abandoned you, has he?' asked Brockelfort, with a good natured smile. 'That won't do, will it? Wouldn't want you to trip on your lovely shoes and hurt yourself. Let me accompany you, please. Would you join me for a stroll?'

Hermione forced herself to nod. Brockelfort shuffled along at a decent speed. Hermione was sure she felt the trickle of blood from the straps but she wasn't going to draw attention to it by looking at her feet. Brockelfort gazed pensively at the forest.

'Are you alright, Mr Brockelfort?' she feigned concern.

'Yes, yes,' he waved her away. 'Quite well, thank you. My dear...in lieu of Lucius' fine company, perhaps I could tempt you to accompany me a short way into the trees? I think you might find one of my recent acquisitions to be...very interesting. A sort of...living collectors item?'

'What is it?' she asked warily.

'Something you would very much like to see!' he smiled encouragingly.

'How far-?'

'Not far,' he promised.

A shadow waited behind a leafless, twisted chestnut tree. Hermione swallowed hard.

'OK,' she nodded. 'A midnight walk. Sounds nice.'

Hermione kept her hand close to her wand as she followed the old man into the trees. He lit the tip of his wand and pointed with the small halo of light to a path through the undergrowth. Something big and heavy had been dragged this way, pulling up soil and bracken in long furrows.

'Watch your feet, my dear,' he warned. He went ahead of her.

The sound of the guests faded into the distance. Once or twice, Brockelfort lead her fearlessly through low-lying fog that she found eerily reminiscent of her time around the Dementors. She knew she was being followed. The wristband tingled gently, suggesting Lucius was almost at the limit of its capacity.

_Oh God, you better be close, _she thought._ I don't want to find out what happens to us if we break the connection. _

Then through the silent dark, Hermione heard a familiar, shrill, uneasy cry. She knew it from her lessons at Hogwarts. It was a Unicorn. Brockelfort waved a complex incantation and a thick, powerful glamour peeled back. Two caged Unicorns stood in the clearing, surrounded by glittering sound-proofing wards. They were tied by their beautiful, moon-white heads to the bars. Their twisting horns caught uncomfortably on the bars. The stallions throat bore the marks of recent abuse by a blade. Thin tributaries of silver blood ran over his broad, muscular chest to his knees. Hermione gasped.

'Oh my God.'

Brockelfort came up behind her, his arms folded, smiling smugly.

'Attacked by a fox, the poor thing,' he lied. 'We tried to help, but Unicorns can be so_ picky_. Still so beautiful though. Why don't you go and_ touch_ one, my dear?'

He had an edge to his voice now that Hermione didn't like. Bitter _spite_. The kind old pensioner was gone. Brockelfort stood a little straighter. She obeyed just to put a little comfortable distance between them.

The stallion hung his head in exhaustion. He searched her face and heart with a wary, silver eye. His mare tugged at her collar. She lifted her front feet and kicked at the bars. Hermione swallowed hard. In a split second decision that she couldn't explain, she changed direction and approached the mare instead. Her heart thumped wildly. She could feel it in her neck, hear it in her skull. The mare snorted out a foggy breath and calmed when she realised her mate was no longer in danger. Her silver blue eye rotated. Hermione felt the edge of the animal's sentient mind brush against her magic, searching, reading her intentions.

'I won't hurt you,' Hermione promised, a bit more thickly than she'd intended. _This is just plain cruel_, she thought. 'It's OK.'

The mare stilled. Hermione held out her hand nervously.

Lucius watched from behind his chestnut. The mare closed the distance and licked her palm. His insides warmed. _Oh merlin's left nut, she's a bloody virgin._

Hermione laughed softly and stroked the warm, fuzzy nose. Soft little white whiskers tickled between her fingers and a hot tongue cleaned all the salt off her hand. The mare blinked eyelashes as delicate as lace made of ice.

'Lovely,' Brockelfort murmured. 'Like you, my dear.'

Hermione jumped away from him. He'd come up behind her silently. He brandished his wand at her. She grabbed for hers.

'_Imp_-' he started.

'_Stupefy_!' she yelled, as a similar blast of light short from between the trees and send Brockelfort sprawling into the base of an oak. His wand fell from his grasping fingers as he struggled to breathe. A second blue flash _thunked_ his head unpleasantly against the risen roots and knocked him out.

Hermione spun to the cage without even looking for Lucius and jabbed her wand-tip into the lock.

_Alohomora, _she willed.

It popped.

'Typical,' she hissed, 'Only an _idiot _relies on heavy warding to do what a lock should.'

Lucius stepped out from between the trees wearing a disgusted expression. He hopped to a clump of sparse grass to wipe his shoe.

'We _have_ to get them out of here,' Hermione said quickly.

'The Aurors are already on their way,' Lucius cast a quick _Scourgify_ and was pleased when he received no unpleasant rebound. 'Now would be a good time to leave, Miss Granger.'

Hermione shook her head as Lucius approached her. The mare took one step away from her mate and pointed her horn directly at Lucius' heart. Hermione stood in the curve of her neck, one hand on her silky soft mane.

Lucius sighed through his nose in irritation.

'Miss Granger-' he warned her.

He inched towards her. The mare sensed his intentions. She took a single, threatening step forward. Lucius stopped with both hands spread in the air.

'For goodness sake!' he hissed. _I never imagined I'd have to fight a Unicorn for a virgin tonight. _

'Or you might not be able to use your questionable influence again,' she nodded sarcastically.

His cheeks gained the slightest flush in his irritation.

'We may both need my ah...questionable influence...as you put it. You rather require my help.'

Hermione brushed her hand down the mare's soft, warm neck and impulsively, rested her cheek against the animal with a smile. Lucius softened. He held out a hand for her. The mare gave a soft whinny as Hermione took his offered hand. She disapparated.

They reappeared in a patch of shadow next to the house. Lucius tugged her close and handed her his cane.

'A little acting,' he arched a brow. He ruffled her hair and smudged her lipstick.

'What on Earth are you doing!' she fought his hands.

'A _diversion_, Miss Granger! We can't very well have been in the forest if we were busy up here, can we? Care to do the honours?' he gestured to himself.

She sighed. She tugged his hair into an artful mess and took a smear of lipstick from her bottom lip. He arched an eyebrow when she wiped it onto his chin.

'How do I look?' he asked.

'Like I've just snogged you senseless,' she said uncomfortably. She pulled off one of her shoes and tugged at her dress until it was a bit rumpled. He unbuttoned his shirt collar, took his cane from her and peered around the tree.

Lucius was granted a better view of the veranda by virtue of his height. He waited until Esme ran into view to watch the first streaming comet land. She was followed closely by her stony-faced Uncle. Lucius pushed Hermione into view. He smirked proudly when she hopped, trying to put her discarded show back on. He stepped out smoothly and knelt to help her.

She gave him a very convincing smile as he straightened and tenderly smoothed her hair down. She reached up to wipe the smudge off his face.

'Are they watching?' he breathed to her hairline.

'Yes,' she whispered.

'Good.'

He took her by the hand and lead her through the house to the apparition point. Delamere watched them coldly. Lucius tugged her close enough to wrap his strong, velvet arms around her body. She disapparated.

**oOo**

They materialised at the Malfoy gate in that position. Her breath fogged lightly as she gazed up at his pristine face._ He looks so tall like this_, she mused._ I think he actually makes me feel quite safe._

His body-heat soaked through her gown. He smirked, an untidy bird who'd forgotten to preen.

'I must say,' he arched a brow as he released her slowly. 'You have an _uncanny_ ability with unicorns.'

Hermione flushed.

'I can see I'm going to have to watch my tongue around you,' he went on. 'Wouldn't want to go spoiling innocence. Tell me...was it shyness that held you back, or is Weasley really as simple-minded as he looks?'

'That's _none_ of your business,' she stepped through the warding with an irritated sigh.

'You really ought to thank me,' he reminded her delicately. His boots crunched on the gravel. Misty was already opening the door for them. 'If not for me, you might have surrendered your virtue on the forest floor tonight.'

'I_ can_ defend myself, you know.'

'Oh,' he nodded, an eyebrow arched. 'I've noticed.'

Hermione tugged her shoes off the moment she reached the foyer and rubbed her feet.

'You're never picking my shoes again,' she said tartly.

**oOo**

Hermione slid out of her gown and was pleasantly surprised to find that - for once- it was whole and complete and thoroughly re-wearable. She smiled at it as she hung it up in her walk-in wardrobe. It was rare she got chance to wear such finery. She couldn't deny enjoying it a little bit. She cleaned her teeth and removed her make-up, revealing the light blush of her burns. As she spat out the toothpaste she gazed at her own face in the mirror.

_I've grown up,_ she thought. She'd always imagined it'd be horrible to get past twenty. She'd envisioned putting on loads of weight around her thighs and probably still having small breasts and wild hair. In truth, she'd never seen anything particularly special about her looks.

She ran fingertips along her forearms. Lena had done the most amazing job but anyone with eyes could tell she'd lost most of her skin there. _Perhaps I should ask for the grafts,_ she thought._ Or perhaps,_ said the Gryffindor inside her, _I should just accept this is who I am now_._ I still have beautiful skin everywhere else. _

It was then that she happened upon an idea. She envisioned the result of a beautiful, if unusual, tattoo. Her contingency plan in case Lena couldn't improve the scars any more.

**oOo**

'Still standing,' Lucius said with an edge of playful humour that Hermione found very refreshing from his normal cynicism. She limped to her seat.

'Only just,' she quipped. 'Have you got any Deep Healing Draught lying around? I did check the bathroom cabinet but...no luck.'

He cast her a glance.

'I'll have some fetched.'

Hermione nodded. 'Thanks.'

Misty appeared with her full English breakfast.

'Master Lucius, Miss...Harry Potter wishes to Floo to speak with you!'

'Tell him I'd like to finish my breakfast first,' Lucius said imperiously.

'Yes, Master.'

**oOo**

'What's going on, Harry?' Hermione asked quickly.

'Two Unicorns,' he said. 'Seized both. We found traces of Unicorn blood in the private lab. Delamere claims he spilled potions ingredients but I can't see that holding up in court. That's the good news. The bad news is that Delamere disapparated using an Untraceable charm.'

'What about Brockelfort, Harry? He tried to use the_ Imperio_ on me in the forest-'

'No trace of him, either but he's obviously in on this. _He's_ actually the one with the record. Rape.'

Hermione swallowed down an ugly knot in her throat. Lucius stiffened slightly but said nothing.

'Worse still, the samples we seized in the underground raid turned to ash. Some kind of curse. The cursebreakers reckon you need a password to work with it. Judging by the victims...we're guessing it's a modified form of Mactoduplex. They're all dead, now. Died within a day.'

Hermione folded her arms uncomfortably.

'They're trying to find a way to remove people's magic by force,' she said solidly. 'They think they can reverse engineer Mactoduplex. Isolate the parts of the potion that take effect when you overdose. Instant Squibbery. Basically the same as absolute power.'

'Yeah,' Harry nodded. 'That's our theory too. I want you to stay here, Hermione. Don't go out alone. They'll be looking for a way to get to you.'

'Harry, you can't ask me to sit back while they do..._that_...to more people!'

'That's what the Auror division's for. Just...stay put. Please. We'll Floo if we find anything either of you can do. One more thing,' Harry sat forward. 'Esme Bishop made a statement to Rita Skeeter this morning.'

Hermione stared at him in numb shock.

'Apparently,' Harry said delicately. 'A broom closet was involved...and then a...tryst against the wall.'

Hermione stared at him in horror. He looked _hurt_. She shook her head vehemently.

'Harry, you can't _possibly_ believe that!'

'It was merely a diversion, Potter,' Lucius put in. 'We had to come up with an alibi quickly.'

'It's not really any of my business, is it?' Harry said, a bit coolly.

Hermione choked back tears. 'I didn't do anything with him, Harry.'

'Fine,' Harry shrugged. His jaw was set in a firm line. 'Just be ready for an article. There's a limit on how far we can go to control the Prophet before we look dictatorial.'

**oOo**

Sleep eluded her. She tossed and turned on the expensive cotton sheets, too hot, too cold, itchy, restless. A lengthy report to the Minister had left her feeling drained and invaded, as if her own life was on trial as well as Lucius'. Lackwit wanted the rehabilitation experiment to run, and by proxy, to succeed, which made Hermione feel she actually _wanted_ another migraine.

She left her silky, warm bed and slid on an old woolly jumper. She crept downstairs in her fluffy red bed-socks and found the study door slightly ajar. The fire was almost burned down but the glowing embers still put out a decent amount of heat. The Brandy decanter caught her eye. She crossed the room and closed her fingers eagerly on the cut crystal neck. His chuckle frightened her half to death. She spun to face him, panting.

'Well, well, Miss Granger,' purred Lucius, from the bay window. His hair caught the moonlight. 'It must have been a nightmare indeed, to drive _you_ to the bottle.'

She forced her breathing to normalise and helped herself resolutely. If he was going to be so sarcastic she'd damn well drink his best liquor.

_'That's_ not the nightmare,' she said. 'By tomorrow morning, most of the Wizarding world will think I'm sleeping with you. Since I'm actually living here right now, that's going to be pretty hard to deny.'

'Sometimes silence achieves more than denial,' he said calmly. 'May I enquire as to the outcome of your meeting with the Minister?'

'Well,' she said softly. 'I admit I didn't skip any pertinent details. He still wants us to continue.'

'Excellent,' his teeth were white behind his smirk. He was exceedingly pleased with himself. 'It's all a formality, you understand. The public is quite simply all over the story of my rehabilitation. _The lackwit_ can't possibly back out now. Besides. My galleons do come in very handy, and with my businesses running smoothly, back under my control, there'll be plenty where my initial...donations...came from. The Minister won't turn down the chance to use me to my full potential.'

Hermione slid into the bay window seat across from him and gazed at the moonlit garden.

'You know, it hasn't escaped my notice that you're basically using me to get into the papers. By _ruining_ whatever decent reputation I actually have. I want it on the record that I _don't_ appreciate it.'

'Quid pro quo, Miss Granger,' he arched a brow.

'Meaning?' she said a bit defensively.

'Meaning,' he took a leisurely, Lordly sip. 'That if you help me attain my liberty, I will help you recover your losses.'

'Are you _bribing_ me?' she asked incredulously.

'I'm ensuring this...transaction...flows smoothly,' his lips lifted smoothly. 'I don't believe I mentioned a bribe? More of a..._partnership.'_

Hermione glanced at the glass in his hand. Then without any warning she sat forward and snatched it.

'Will you _stop_ _drinking!_' she huffed.

'Give me my glass,' Lucius held out his hand threateningly.

'No!'

He unfolded himself. She snatched up her wand and vanished it.

'Why you interfering little _witch_!' he hissed.

'You're awful when you drink!' she turned for the door.

He grabbed her from behind with both arms and held her as if he were giving her a big, bear hug. He was strong and stubborn but he didn't squeeze too hard.

'Give me back my fine crystal,' his tone held a note of clear warning.

'Absolutely not,' she shook her head. 'Since it hasn't actually left the house I can't even be accused of theft!'

'This is a large house,' Lucius said coolly. 'And I'm very fond of those glasses. Where is it?'

'No,' she wriggled. He pulled her in closer. His chest was so _hot_. She wasn't keen to admit it to herself but she was secretly enjoying this. It felt good to be close to another human being.

'Where is it!' he hissed, with his mouth so close to her ear that her whole body shuddered in violent betrayal. She knew right away he felt and perfectly understood her reaction. His grasp took on a slightly different texture and energy. It wasn't precisely sexual, more friendly. He turned his hand to hold her forearm. His thumb stroked a very gentle, soothing rhythm on her skin. She felt like he was telling her, albeit secretly, that he was enjoying the game. _Just a bit of harmless fun_. She resisted the urge to smile.

Lucius rested his forehead on the back of her skull like Harry might if they were stuck in stalemate in a Twister fight and said dangerously;

'If you don't bring me back my glass, I shall ward the liquor cabinet so only I can access it.'

Hermione sagged.

'You wouldn't.'

'I assure you, I will. You little _lush_,' she could hear his smirk.

She snorted. 'That's something coming from you, Lucius Alcoholic Malfoy.'

'_I_ can hold my drink,' he sniffed.

'So can I,' she countered, defensively.

He moved his hand and gently, dug his fingertips into the sensitive flesh of her waist.

'Oi!' she yelped as she twisted away. He held on tight.

'Forgive me,' he said, with false sincerity. 'I seem to have found your weakness.'

Hermione squealed as he tickled her. He was merciless. He remembered doing this to Draco when he was still a boy. It was always well received and Draco was a fighter, more inclined to try and best his Father than Granger, who tried to curl up in his arms as she laughed helplessly. He felt himself grow warm and unaccountably happy as she responded so favourably. Narcissa would certainly have cursed him for trying this, even when they were younger. He kept his hands deliberately gentle, sensing that he very much wanted the girl to trust his touch in future.

'Stop it! Please!' she bucked, wriggling madly. He paused. She couldn't stop giggling.

'My glass?' he enquired calmly.

'No!' she resisted. She screamed as he wrapped both arms across her body like a dual seatbelt and attacked her waist. 'Alright, alright!' she gasped.

He tugged her a bit closer to his chest in silent warning that if she should try to be sneaky, he'd tickle again. Hermione composed herself enough to flick her wand and bring back his glass.

'Good girl,' he purred. 'I always knew you could be reasonable.'

'You can go _right_ to hell,' she laughed incredulously. She didn't really mean it and she could tell he knew that.

He released her gently and set her back on her feet. _He's so gentle when he wants to be_, she thought, as she turned to look up at him. She was flushed pink, her eyes alive.

_Could I have made her happy?_ He thought hesitantly_. She certainly **looks** it. _His traitorous heart swelled with secret pride. It had been a very long time since he'd made anyone happy. It felt good and brought back memories of his earlier days, before the Dark Lord.

Hermione gazed a bit too long, awed by his fine features and sudden display of playfulness. He gazed back, his eyes full of heavy-lidded humour as he sipped his drink contentedly.

'I'm going to bed,' she announced.

'I'm going to sit here and enjoy my triumph,' he raised the glass in mock toast.

'Oh, stop _gloating_,' she scowled, not very seriously.

'Do _try_ not to be sore loser,' he countered with a soft little smirk.

**oOo**

Hermione came down to breakfast to find the Daily Prophet waiting for her. She unfolded it cautiously.

_Caught – Granger and Malfoy._

_An anonymous source reports witnessing none other than Hermione Granger and Lucius Malfoy in a secret broom-closet tryst. _

_Attending an evening affair together, they seemed more concerned with each other than an Auror raid on the private estate on which they were dining._

_Miss Granger is known for her taste in famous wizards, having previously dated close friends Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, and even indulged a year-long liaison with Quidditch star Viktor Krum. Miss Granger is, apparently, not shy about using her charms to get what she wants but many expected better of Malfoy. In the wake of his divorce from ex-wife Narcissa Black, he seems to have turned his attention to less refined and certainly more vulnerable prey._

Their picture hardly moved. A hidden cameraman had snapped the moment before they disapparated from the Delamere estate. Hermione stood tight to Lucius, gazing up into his face. Looking at it from an outsiders perspective she had to admit, they did look intimate. He was wearing the oddest expression of tender amusement she'd ever seen. She flushed pink and put the paper down.

'Less refined. Vulnerable!? _Prey_!'

'You're _hardly _prey,' Lucius admitted tightly. 'More like a little cobra.'

'Thanks,' she burst out laughing as she added drily; 'I think.'

**oOo**

Misty apparated into the library with a soft pop.

'Mr Harry Potter is here, Miss! Should Misty show him in?'

Hermione set her quill down and put aside her translation of the _A M Anonymous_' work.

'Yes please, Misty.'

Harry gave Hermione a big, brotherly hug. He held on a bit longer than normal and then took the seat she offered with uncharacteristic quietness. He met her eyes nervously. She knew right away he was here on personal business.

'Hermione. I need to talk to you about the other day. You and Malfoy,' he sighed. 'I'm _sorry_. I didn't think before I opened my mouth. I've spoken to a few people at work and Malfoy's very well known for using any tool he can to get publicity.'

Hermione listened.

'Before you took this job, he'd been out of the news for months. I'm sorry for doubting you, OK? I really am.'

'It's OK, Harry,' she smiled suddenly and gave him a huge hug. 'God, you worried me!'

Harry hugged her back.

'If he _does_ try anything funny, call me and I'll knock him sideways if you don't first.'

She laughed in relief. 'I will.'

**oOo**

The sun set slowly behind the Manor, bleeding colour across the low clouds. A few late Winter birds floated by on the evening currents, seeking a warm place to roost. The cloud was due to thicken later on and set down a few more inches of crisp snow. Hermione liked the Winter well enough but she was already beginning to miss the open blue Summer sky. Living under this pall of grey for three months of the year felt so restrictive.

She'd been poring over the translation and her equation all day. The latter was now three pages long, stuck together with sellotape. She always kept it unfolded on the desk to remind her of her purpose and in case a stray snippet of inspiration should fly through her head. She was almost tired enough to call it a day. She considered a long, hot bubble bath and then a return to her favourite comfortable library chair for an evening of light reading when her eyes went suddenly wide. She gaped at the page.

'Oh my God,' she whispered, as she flicked her wand at her cypher. Two swirling ink symbols rose off the parchment and switched places. 'Oh my God! How could I have been so_ stupid!'_

Her voice echoed off the vaulted ceilings._ A M Anonymous'_ secret well of information suddenly became readable. Hermione grinned. 'At _last_!' she squealed.

**oOo**

Hermione woke sharply to the sound of glass breaking violently. Her heart pounded furiously as she slid out of bed as quietly as she could and snatched her dressing gown off the hook on the back of the door. She tied it tight and feeling muzzy, as though she had a migraine coming on, she left her room by wandlight. The Manor was empty and dark. She saw no sign of a break in. There wasn't a fibre out of place. She didn't get the feeling of imminent danger. She tiptoed down the stairs, checking every so often over the bannister for movement in the shadows. There was nothing. She began to relax a little.

The Manor came alive at night in a way it didn't during the day. The _creaks_ and _squeaks_ of ancient floorboards contracting, the _scritching_ and _scrabbling_ of rats. The odd _urps_ and _boinks_ of the heating system that echoed weirdly in the cavernous spaces.

The study door glowed around the edges, revealing little splintery nicks; slips of the carpenters hand. She pushed it open. Lucius sat slumped at his desk with his one good hand buried in the rumpled hair at his forehead. His wand hand was bleeding. Shards of broken glass refracted firelight on the desk. She could smell spilled Whisky. Adder watched from his basket in the corner, his crimson eyes half closed. Arrow twitched an ear and slept on. Hermione snatched up Lucius' broken hand with a sigh. He hissed in pain.

'Miss Granger,' he hissed. 'Do you _mind_-'

'Yes!' she snapped brusquely. 'I _do_! You almost gave me a heart attack. I thought someone was in the house.'

'Impossible,' he sniffed.

He gazed at her briefly with pink-rimmed eyes before he hid his face behind a curtain of platinum hair. His eyes were haunted by vulnerability. His fingers were quite cold.

With a resigned sigh she cast a quick anaesthetic charm she'd learned from Lena. '_Honestly_. Can't you take up boxing, or running or something? Please tell me I'm _not _living with a bin-bag personality.'

'Dare I ask?' he drawled. He sounded very tired.

Hermione grabbed his quill and trailing spots of black ink over her PJ bottoms, she transfigured it into a pair of tweezers. 'It means someone who bottles up all their emotions and then one day...they snap and _murder_ someone.'

He smirked.

'Quite fitting.'

'That's_ not_ very comforting,' she said tightly as she cast a brighter Lumos. She bent over his hand as she picked slivers of cut glass out of his flesh.

'Honestly, Ron used to do stupid things like this. You've _obviously_ never heard of casting a shield charm and blasting everything inside it until you feel better! I mean, there's always _Reparo_, isn't there?'

'Miss Granger,' he said, as she transfigured a rolled bandage from an old parchment and wrapped it around his hand. 'You are quite the most unusual witch I've ever met.'

'I'm going to take that as a compliment,' she arched her own eyebrow. 'Now, if you don't mind I'm going back to bed. If you're going to have another temper tantrum please will you cast a _Muffliato_ beforehand?'

Lucius leaned back in his chair. He gave her a short nod. He gazed at his bandaged hand like a man on a drug trip. His lips lifted in a tired, albeit slightly grateful little smirk.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC :)<strong>


	7. To Kiss A Serpent

7 – To Kiss a Serpent

Lucius had no business or social plans for Hermione's evening and she didn't want to pass another lonely weekday night at the Manor. She fished out an old pair of skinny black jeggings that she sometimes wore to work under her robes and a plain, fitted shirt. She put her black and grey tartan Winter coat on over the top and donned a scarf. Lucius was in his office surrounded by a circular, floating array of crime-scene photographs. He bent over a report, his quill _scritching_ busily.

'Potter tonight, is it?' he asked, sounding rather unimpressed.

'No, Harry's working. I'll be back by eleven.'

'Fine,' he said absently. 'Just be sure to drag the Weasley girl along. Or perhaps that irritating, air-headed Lovegood?'

'All working!' Hermione called over her shoulder.

Lucius emerged from his office as Hermione put her foot on the top step. He looked tired. His limp hair had gone a couple of days without a wash.

'If I may ask,' he arched a brow. 'Where do you intend to go?'

'What does it matter?'

Lucius arched a brow sarcastically.

'It _matters,_ because _the lackwit_ would hang me out to dry if I lost his precious "Golden Girl"to Muggle London.'

'I've got to get out of this house!' there was an edge of desperation in her voice. 'I mean, I've been cooped up in here for ages and before that, I was stuck in Grimmauld Place, practically alone apart from a _horrible_ House Elf.'

'You're _not _going out on your own,' he insisted. His slippers whispered on the soft hall carpet as he closed the distance between them. 'If you must insist on your little escapade, then somebody is going to have to go with you. But you owe me, Miss Granger. I intended to work this evening.'

Hermione was lost for words.

'I _really_ don't think you'll like where I'm going.'

'Wait. There,' Lucius insisted. 'Be assured if you're gone when I get back, I'll summon Mr Potter.'

'Do you really think you're going to go wandering through Muggle London in your bloody smoking jacket?' she called at his back. He jogged up the stairs. 'You'll stick out like a sore thumb!'

Hermione checked the time restlessly, unwilling to miss the film. Lucius strode into view with plenty of time to spare. His hair was fastened back in an attractive braid that she imagined one of the House-Elves must have done for him. It made his eyes look even more striking than usual. It suited him.

His brown calf-skin boots were just visible under a pair of black jeans and he wore a thick, knee-length woollen coat over the top of a fine, plain black shirt. His cashmere scarf was doubled over and pulled through its own loop.

'I-er-' she stumbled over her words.

He spread his hands in silent question. The effect was ruined by the fact they were stuffed into his coat pockets. She eyed his flat tummy and her mouth went dry.

'And?' he prompted. She opened and closed her mouth soundlessly. He arched a brow expectantly. 'Do I meet with your approval?'

'Erm-yes,' she managed to get a breath into her lungs. 'Of course. I just didn't expect-' she cast an almost wary glance at his legs and shook her head lightly.

'Speechless at last,' he smirked. 'I must say, a fine quality in a lady.'

Her anger brought her back down to Earth.

'One you should aspire to,' she agreed.

'I'm not a lady,' he said, with deep satisfaction at having won another verbal sparring match.

Hermione flashed her wand casually.

'We could fix that.'

He snorted. 'An eye for an eye, my dear. Expect a fair comeback.'

**oOo**

Hermione apparated into an alley she knew well from previous cinema trips. She hid herself in the alley-mouth shadows and checked the street beyond to be certain no-one was watching. Lucius leaned close to her back, searching the crowd for familiar faces. No-one was paying them any attention. Her boot-toes disturbed little fractions of broken brick and old, flayed newspapers.

'Are you OK?' she asked quietly.

'Surely you don't think this is my first visit to the Muggle world?' The hint of laughter in his voice irritated her.

'I honestly don't know,' she admitted. 'It's called being _nice_. I'm hardly surprise you barely recognise it.'

'Touché.'

He followed her casually into the street. Hermione kept her eye on him under her lashes. She was curious to see how he'd handle this.

His sneer was gone. He let her set the pace and followed comfortably with his hands in his coat pockets. He didn't draw any extra attention to himself. He might as well be a well-dressed businessman out for the evening. She breathed out her relief and lead him up the steps to her favourite Odeon. She stopped at the poster to see what was playing.

'You seem it at ease, Miss Granger,' he observed, innocently, over her shoulder, 'Is something the matter?'

_'You_,' she admitted. 'I have to say, I never expected you to be so...'

'Muggle?' he supplied.

'Yes!'

'Know thine enemy.'

'You know,' she said softly. 'I _really_ think we should stop these conversations one sentence sooner.'

'Miss Granger,' he stopped her with a light touch to the elbow and said a little apologetically, '_Not_ a romance, if you'd be so kind.'

To his credit, Lucius was neither a movie fidgeter or a noisy eater. She was grateful for that. He accepted her offer of popcorn (salty) and coke (diet) and thereafter, dipped his hand into the carton now and then, enjoying the texture more than the taste. Hermione stole occasional glances at him. His attention was riveted to the screen. She caught him smiling at the jokes. He stretched out once, his legs crossed at the ankles and she was glad she'd picked Premier seats. He was certainly on the tall side. When the credits rolled, she sat perfectly still until the lights came up.

'Did you like it?' she asked, a bit uncomfortably. 'It's actually based on one of my favourite books-'

She shut her mouth before it could run off without consulting her brain. He was looking at her oddly. It was an expression she really couldn't read.

'I suppose it must be weird for you to see life without magic,' the silence forced a second rather inane comment out of her.

'It was quite funny,' he conceded. 'Certainly better than those blasted investigations.'

She hid a smile as she gathered her coat and bag. _Compliment indeed,_ she thought.

On the well-lit London street outside, her belly grumbled loudly. She spied a burger van not far down the street and entertained a pleasurable vision of a juicy, Americanised quarter pounder with cheese.

'Are you hungry?' she ventured.

'That depends on what you intend to feed me.'

'Fried food,' she teased.

He looked down his nose at her but she sensed it wasn't completely serious. 'I should have known. I promise you, I won't so much as _look_ at a hot-dog. Draco pulled that trick once and neither one of us enjoyed the aftermath.'

Hermione cracked a smile. '_Enough _information?'

'Quite,' he followed her, his regular footfalls a rhythm she was coming to know.

As she drew closer to the van and he guessed her destination he caught her lightly by the elbow.

'I most certainly will not eat _there_!' he insisted.

'Oh, _come on_!' she tugged a bit petulantly. 'I hardly ever get a decent burger!'

'Why on Earth would you _want _to?' he countered. 'I'm sure Misty could make you a very passable and certainly less...fattening...version?'

'Because they taste amazing!' she enthused, breaking free.

'Your diet is...' _disgusting_, he thought, then he modified it to, '_Questionable_. At best. Fine. If this poisons either one of us, I promise I'll cook next time, and you _will_ eat. It _won't _be pleasant.'

She soon handed him a burger wrapped in a tissue. She scarpered into the shadows of the alley behind the van to wrap her lips around something she'd sworn she'd never eat again for as long as she wanted her backside the stay the right size. She hummed her approval, licking tomato sauce off her fingers.

'Oh my God, this is _sooooo_ good,' she said, through a mouthful.

'Would you like a bib, Miss Granger?'

She rolled her eyes.

'I could find one of Draco's, if you like,' he offered. 'The type with the little tray at the bottom-'

She held up a hand.

'Before you go any further, I want to see you eat yours without getting so much as a scrap down that bloody perfect shirt. _Then_ you can criticise.'

He was very nearly on the last bite when he had to suck a dribble of tomato sauce of his thumb quickly. The brightest witch of her age spotted it and exclaimed triumphantly; 'I saw that!'

'You saw nothing,' he sniffed. He hid his hand in his pocket.

'Sore loser, Mr Malfoy?' she chuckled. 'Why doesn't _that _surprise me.'

'At least I managed to get it all in my mouth,' he pointed out.

'What does _that_ prove?' she asked pointedly.

'And what, exactly, are you insinuating?' the eyebrow went up, the signal that she was treading dangerously.

She smirked and looked away. _Why do I feel shy? She put her tissue in the nearest bin and wiped her sticky hands on her jeans. _

'Miss Granger,' he said threateningly. He came closer. His eyes sparked dangerously. She sensed his intent was playful and her apprehension became more about what might happen next.

'Has the Gryffindor kitten lost her courage in the face of the snake?' he smirked as she backed away.

'No!' she lied.

He snagged her by her middle and dragged her in. Despite her best efforts he really was disturbingly strong. It was deliciously comforting to be held so gently. Ron had never been much on cuddles but Hermione loved them and she'd do almost anything to get one.

'Are you trying to imply I have a big mouth?' he persisted, in her ear. Her scalp goose-pimpled. It sent a chill down the back of her neck.

She grinned from ear to ear. She was so pleased he was touching her she couldn't stop. He was _so_ very warm.

'I'd hardly call it an implication,' she said breathlessly. 'More a medical _fact_.'

He tickled her until she gasped out a desperate; 'Stop!'

'Afraid I'll make you shriek in the middle of the street?' he enquired softly. She could hear him smiling. 'What do we say, kitten?' he prompted.

'No,' she refused to beg. She wanted him to keep touching her. He gave her another bout of tickling until she finally yelped;_ 'Please!'_

He stopped with a soft chuckle and gently set her back on her feet. He held on a bit longer than was really necessary before he released her with a Slytherin smirk.

'I'm going to get you back, you know,' she panted.

'I'm not ticklish,' he lied.

They walked in fairly companionable silence back through the old, Victorian buildings to the apparition point.

'You owe me, Miss Granger,' he said as they closed the front door and enjoyed the warmth of the Manor.

'I know,' she sighed. 'You're going to drag me to another boring dinner party and ask me to let some old codger feel me up again.'

'That's not the first time you've mentioned him,' Lucius caught up to her on the stairs. 'Did he harm you?'

She stopped dead, her heart thumping fast.

He stood two steps below her and gazed up at her face. 'I imagined you'd get your claws out long before Brockelfort had chance to mistreat you. _Physically_ anyway. Tell me you _aren't_ that easily led,' there was an edge of a sneer to it.

She avoided his eyes.

'No. He just made me feel...disgusting. It'd help if you actually share some details with me _beforehand._ You let me walk in blind, and ask me to trust you. I hate to remind you yet again, but you're not exactly somebody I'd usually trust under normal circumstances.'

He folded his arms, his grey eyes cold as steel.

'It's good to know somebody is holding so tightly to the past. Wouldn't want _that_ forgotten, would we?' There was bite to it.

'You expect me to just forget everything that happened-' she stopped herself at the memory of her evening spent on the drawing room floor. 'The cruciatus isn't exactly something you forget easily.'

'Back to _that_, are we?' he enquired, all trace of humour gone. 'You certainly have a...tenacious...memory. What _should_ I have done? If I'd lifted a finger, Draco would have been _next_.'

Before she could answer he backed down, anger melting into resignation. Or was it disappointment? She wasn't sure.

'I _should_ have,' he admitted suddenly. 'I should have stopped her. There are...quite a few things...I should have done. But unless you have a time turner stashed in that ridiculous bag of yours,' his lips turned upwards, 'The most I can offer is a sort of...amends now.'

She folded her arms and swallowed down her tears.

'Come here,' he said gently.

'What? Why?'

He rolled his eyes.

'Honestly, Miss Granger. I'm not going to bite you. Do you think I'll get a restful night if I have to imagine you sobbing in your suite?'

'You keep going like this and I'll start to think you actually _care_,' she quipped. Her resolve was failing.

He enfolded her in a hug that reminded her so much of her Father that she actually sobbed before she managed to bite it back and swallow her reaction. She found a spot near his collarbone where she could smell his skin. He was so warm that she never, ever wanted to move again. Her knees went all soft and her heart yawned open, needy and willing.

'You could hug me back,' he suggested drily. 'Before I start to feel like a cuddle rapist.'

She laughed in surprise. She wrapped her arms around him and for the first time since her messy breakup with Ron, she actually smiled for something other than a new book.

'Mr Malfoy-'

'Lucius would be a _bit _more appropriate, don't you think?' he arched a brow.

'Lucius,' she amended. 'I can't believe you just said _cuddle_ and _rapist_ in the same sentence.'

'Nobody would believe you if you told them,' he sniffed.

She choked out a laugh.

'Thank you,' she murmured against his shirt.

'Would you care for a drink?'

She nodded. 'OK.'

**oOo**

Hermione woke up hung over with vague memories of drinking quite a bit of Whisky in the study and then falling asleep on the sofa. She remembered hearing him snort and insult her tolerance for alcohol as he carried her upstairs. A strange warmth settled around her heart.

She rolled over to find a phial of bright green Pepper-Up potion waiting beside the bed. There was a little luggage-tag hanging from the neck.

**I expect you'll want one of these. L**

She smiled a bit painfully and swallowed it down with a wince. She felt much better after a shower. She wandered down to breakfast with her curls still drying. Lucius was already there. He looked much healthier than she felt.

'Well, well. It rises from the pit,' he smirked at her expense.

She pulled the top of his paper down, taking care to deliberately crumple the page.

'Why is there a zombie at the breakfast table, and what've you done with Lucius Malfoy?'

He tugged his paper free with an arched brow and unwrinkled it patiently. He shook it straight and went back to reading.

'My greatest secret revealed,' he said, 'I'm _not _a morning person.'

'That makes two of us.'

'But at least_ I_ make it look good,' he added.

She realised she'd been set up. She stuffed her scrambled egg into her mouth.

'You _are_ human after all. You want to be careful. Your heart will grow three sizes.'

He glanced at her over his paper, thinking; _it already has. _

'Preposterous. I don't have a heart.'

**oOo**

Hermione was in the library, poring over the Equation. Her hair was a bit frazzled and she looked tired. Lucius handed her a gilded invitation.

'"Rosaline and Mercy Brockelfort cordially invite you to attend their Christmas Ball on December 21st."' Hermione gazed at it suspiciously. 'I think Harry should see this. It might be a trap.'

'Quite,' Lucius nodded.

A few minutes later, Hermione stuck her head in the fireplace. Harry crouched in his office to speak to the embers.

'The memories you gave me definitely provide enough evidence of the attempted use of the Imperio,' Harry agreed. 'But the Mads thinks the conversation you witnessed is too vague. It won't hold up in court, anyway. The most we can sting him for his theft or illegal trading, depending on whether we ever find the Unicorn's owners.'

'They've_ got_ to be from a private estate,' Hermione said. 'They're far too tame.'

'I know. As for that,' he gestured to the invitation. 'Yeah, it might be a trap. Or at least, Brockelfort is after information. To see if he's suspected. It's up to you if you want to risk falling into it for the sake of answers.'

'It might be the fastest way out of this situation,' Hermione admitted. 'I want my life back, Harry.'

'The Minister can't force you. Not into this.'

'The luxury of choice at last,' Lucius drawled from the study behind her. 'How very _considerate _of him. Be sure to give him my regards.'

**oOo**

'Miss Granger. Would you join me for a walk? We have a few things to discuss.'

The grounds were frozen solid. Yet more snow was forecast for later that night but for now the sky was light grey. The wind was very cold. Hermione pushed her hands into her coat pockets. Lucius lead her down the path, around the lake and into the fields. Adder and Arrow trotted ahead, their tongues lolling.

At the stile, both dogs wormed their way through a gap in the fence and waited on the other side, whining expectantly as Lucius climbed over. As Hermione made to step down on the other side, he caught her hand with a tight smile and a nod. He whistled to the dogs.

'Go on, boys!' he grinned at their enthusiasm.

They shot off like two, grey rockets, covering ground quickly. They circled the wide field, diving in and out of the woods. Hermione's breath fogged as she and Lucius trudged up the uneven, grassy field edge toward a little folly on the hill.

She stepped inside the cavernous little building. Its high ceiling invited her; 'Echo!'

Lucius winced and rolled his eyes. She smiled unapologetically.

They walked a long, dirt track, following the paw-prints in the snow. They came to the crest of a great hill. Down the steep bank wound the winding, silver river Hermione had seen from the Manor. She didn't fancy the bank. It looked slippery. Adder and Arrow were already by the water, chasing rabbits whenever they could find one.

'What of the party, Miss Granger?'

'Well,' she unzipped her coat to let some heat escape. The long walk had left her flushed. She'd need a bath later, to warm her feet up. 'I think we should go.'

'Then I feel I should warn you that Rosaline's tastes run toward the...exotic.'

'Oh,' Hermione glanced at the shimmering river. 'In what way?'

'She's rather well known for her...alternative...sexual proclivities. I imagine, that the party will quickly degenerate. Should Mercy make an appearance, and I expect he will, I'll be very surprised if he doesn't _attempt_ to-' he trailed off.

'Great,' she sighed. 'That's just great. I really don't see what choice we have. I'll never have a normal life until this is over and to be honest...much as I love Harry...I really don't see him solving this case until the Auror office gets its _thumb_ out of its _arse_-'

'Too much bureaucracy, my dear,' he said lightly. 'Really, working for the Ministry is _terribly_ dull.'

'I was under the impression you spent more time trying to influence the Minister than doing actual paperwork-' she said innocently.

'It didn't quite have the desired effect, did it?' he said. There was a tinge of regret in his voice.

Hermione took that as a moment of honest vulnerability and felt curiously honoured by his candor.

'Alright,' she breathed after a minute. 'When you say...alternative sexual proclivities. What exactly does that mean? I don't want to get the wrong end of the stick here. I mean, there's a bit of a difference between enduring the sight of Mercy Brockelfort _in flagrante delicto _and being..._involved_ myself_.'_

'You'll almost certainly be asked,' he nodded. 'I confess I was simply worried you might hex someone if I left you...unprepared. We'll simply tell a little lie.'

'Which is?'

'We'll say you're spoken for and I _certainly _do not share.'

'Oh,' she said. 'And will this involve and actual er...activity?'

'Do give me a little credit, Miss Granger? I'm many things, but I like to think a libertine is not one one of them. That's why I'd like your _permission_ to inform any who might require it that you're mine.'

She let out a slow breath.

'Only if you promise me you won't let anyone..._touch_ me.'

Lucius regarded her with an unusually gentle expression.

He reached for her suddenly but he hesitated before his gloved fingers could connect. His eyes were hungry and his body language spoke of need, edged with patience. Hermione closed the distance breathlessly. His hand slid gently into her curls. He brought her close to his warm chest until she rested her forehead on him. She breathed in his warmth and unique smell and smiled.

She wrapped her arms around his waist tentatively as if she was afraid he might suddenly change his mind and reject her. His breathing changed. He was desperately in need of more. He wanted some sense of security in her feelings for him but he wasn't willing to risk rejection to get it. He let out a warm sigh into her hair and closed his eyes against the top of her head. She could hear his heartbeat.

'It's _important_ to me,' she confessed. 'I always wanted it to be right.'

'I give you my word,' he whispered to her. 'No-one will touch your virtue.'

There was no lie in his gaze. His lips lifted in a small smile. It was the first time he'd smiled so openly for her. It lifted his face and revealed little crows feet at the corners of his eyes. He looked much younger. She wondered if he wanted to kiss her. She couldn't deny that if he tried, she was going to let him. Wrapped in his warm, protective arms she felt safer and more complete than ever before.

_I need this,_ she realised. _All those years of running around trying to stay alive. I need to feel safe and he does that for me. _

'I'd better go shopping, then. I'd hate to insult your delicate sensibilities by wearing the same evening gown twice,' she said teasingly.

'Yes, _please_ spare me that,' he agreed with a teasing smirk.

'I haven't actually done any Christmas shopping yet and everyone's going to Harry's for Christmas. I really need to get some gifts.'

Lucius watched her expressions flicker gently over her fine features. She was rather a beautiful girl, even if she was terribly stubborn at times. He liked that about her, much as it often frustrated him. She was strong-willed, intelligent and brave. Few people ever answered him back, awed as they were by his power, money or reputation. She did. She was so, so strong and yet conversely, he could sense a delicacy and an innocence about her that he desperately wanted to claim and protect.

Her eyelids flickered, little tawny half-moons like shredded moth wings in the wind. Her cheeks had taken on a delicious rosy flush. He hadn't even tried to kiss her, though he wanted to. _Back to front_, he thought. He couldn't remember Narcissa ever doing this. Rarely before they were married and never afterwards. She was tricky to get close to at the best of times.

He loosened his hold to give her chance to step away. She parted from him reluctantly, presenting him with the perfect chance for a kiss as she lifted her chin to gaze at him, but what he saw in her eyes almost stopped his heart. _Trust._ Nobody had looked at him like that in _years_. He held off, reluctant to make a fatal mistake.

'Would you care for some company into town?' he asked. 'For your own safety, naturally.'

She nodded.

**oOo**

Lucius was waiting at the door. He offered her the bracelet, already attached to his own wrist. She slid it on and then put her stretchy black gloves on over the top. She'd chosen her tartan coat and a green scarf over jeans. Her knee-high heeled leather boots raised her a couple of inches. Lucius picked up the the edge of her scarf, close to her jaw and deliberately far from more sensitive areas.

'There's a special punishment at Hogwarts for House traitors,' he arched a brow playfully.

'For wearing green?' she asked doubtfully.

'It's_ quite_ against the rules,' he sniffed.

'Well, I'm not taking it off,' she teased. 'It's too cold.'

His loose hair stirred in the breeze. At the gate her turned to her.

'Miss Granger-'

'Hermione,' she said. 'I think we can risk a first name basis now. To be honest, "Miss Granger" makes me feel about eleven years old.'

'It's generally considered polite,' he pointed out. 'In fact, in..._certain.._.circles, if I called you anything else they'd assume we were...ah,' he smiled apologetically.

'This is another one of those Pureblood customs?'

'Naturally. In fact, it's very unusual for an unmarried man to call a...very...eligible young lady by her given name unless he's either family, or her intended.'

'Eligible?' she arched a brow at him. 'I most certainly am _not_.'

'You're not married, are you?' he feigned surprise.

'No, but that doesn't mean-'

'It means,_ Hermione,_ that gentlemen will vie for your hand whether you intend to marry or not. Especially if you continue to move in my social circle.'

'Well,' she blustered a bit. 'They're going to be disappointed, because I'm not marrying _anyone_ any time soon.'

He smirked.

'Shall we?' he offered his arm. 'Hermione.'

'Of course,' she put an edge of the poshest accent she could into her voice and took his arm. _'Lucius.'_

'What a delicious pronunciation you have,' he said. His brow furrowed lightly. 'I do believe it'd be worth a few elocution lessons to improve that natural lilt.'

'No!' she said quickly. 'You're absolutely _not_ going to turn me into some sort of...snob. Just so that you can look better in front of your friends!'

'You misunderstand me,' he smiled tightly. 'Many of the richest and _naturally_...the most influential...families and indeed, _benefactors_ for your future business, are Pureblood and therefore, have certain expectations and tastes. Should you be willing to meet those expectations, you might find that gold flows more easily,' he arched a brow. 'Forgive my phrasing, but I fear presenting yourself thus, may give them the impression you're rather..._common_.'

Hermione's eyes bugged.

_'Excuse me?'_

'Many simply prefer to do business with those who _appear_...to be of a certain social standing. Prejudice is not weeded out in a generation, my dear. I merely suggest that instead of fighting expectation, you might like to take advantage of a useful resource recently become available to you. For your own benefit, _of course_.'

'Which is?'

'Why, me. Naturally,' he said, as if it should be obvious. 'A paltry _Ministry_ backing means nothing in good Society,' he waved a hand derisively. 'However. A well spoken, properly attired young lady, both clever and articulate, well trained in etiquette and perhaps, a touch of Slytherin cunning to compliment her own natural intelligence, could go a very long way, particular with endorsement from the right names.'

He laid his hand gently over hers in the crook of his arm.

'Think of it as a performance. Make-up to be taken off at will.'

**oOo**

Diagon Alley was packed with pre-Christmas shoppers. The street was temporarily magically extended to include a bustling, colourful market. Hermione lead Lucius into the nearest dress shop and perused the rails.

'I could have_ sworn_ I heard someone apparate in behind us,' she whispered to him anxiously.

'People apparate in and out all the time,' he murmured, not far from her hairline as he passed by, his cane making dull little sounds on the thick carpet. 'Don't fret, my dear.'

'It's kind of hard when you feel like the whole world's watching your back,' she pointed out.

'I'm afraid I'm _quite_ used to it,' he perched on a chair, his back straight and leaned a hand on his silver cane.

'Is this too blue?' she asked.

'It drowns you,' he said, without preamble. 'Though for once you picked an appropriate cut.'

'Oh wow...' Hermione breathed appreciatively, as she fished a very pretty red gown off a rail and held it up.

'Really, you're not going to a Prom,' he pointed out. 'Imagine what Mercy will think if he sees your...assets...on display?'

She put it down with a disappointed _clunk_.

'What we require,' he stood and idly searched through the choices. 'Is something fetching but demure, flattering and elegant, that leaves enough room to wear a little jewellery.'

He finally picked a dark blue dress with thin straps but discarded it when it came to her calves.

'This won't do,' he sighed. 'We'll try somewhere else.'

'Ah!' he exclaimed, as they passed the window of an upmarket dress shop. 'Much better.'

'No!' she resisted, though not too hard, for fear of causing a scene. 'Lucius. There's no way I can afford their clothes.'

He stood in the open door, one hand on the door handle, the other outstretched for her. His eyebrow arched but it lacked much venom.

'Mr Malfoy!' an excited female voice said from inside.

Hermione followed him inside reluctantly.

'Mrs Teasdale. Miss Granger requires an evening gown in a suitable colour and style.'

'Of course,' Teasdale nodded, turning her eye on Hermione. 'Such a surprise to see you here. We saw Mr Malfoy in the paper, of course.'

'I hope you don't believe such rubbish,' Lucius drawled.

'I certainly don't!' the middle-aged, brown-haired little witch was on the skinny side. She sounded offended at the very suggestion. 'And besides, what two people choose to do with themselves romantically is quite beyond reproach as far as I'm concerned! As for your gown, I'd say...pink perhaps. Or silver. Black may be a little too strong on you. I do have a very pretty white number with some lilac embroidery. Let's give them a go, shall we?'

Hermione found Mrs Teasdale oddly reassuring. She was clearly a Pureblood and definitely rather posh but she was friendly and grounded too. Hermione liked that.

'Will you be staying, Mr Malfoy?' Teasdale enquired lightly.

He nodded.

Teasdale closed the curtains behind them and helped Hermione out of her shirt and into the first, an elegant pale pink gown that brushed the floor and left a split to her knee. It was smooth, panelled and it felt like silk. She presented herself rather nervously for Lucius only to see his eyes grow hungry.

'We might need to take it in a little,' Teasdale said, tugging the waist a bit. 'You're a bit smaller in the waist. I could have that done in no time. What do you think?'

'The colour certainly suits, but I'd like to see the silver,' Lucius said.

The second dress was more of a ballgown than a mere evening dress, complete with a strapless bodice in beautiful, shimmering silver satin. It was enchanted to sparkle just a little. The smooth skirt fell all the way to the floor. It felt wonderful, as soft as the sheets she slept on. This time, Lucius stood and hung his cane on his arm. There was a funny expression on his face, half way between awe and hunger.

'Permit me?' he enquired of her, holding both his hands up.

Hermione nodded even though she wasn't sure what he planned to do. He shed his gloves quickly and gathered up her hair. He arranged it delicately on top of her head. Hermione tried not to shiver. He was so gentle she couldn't help but feel he'd done this before. Catching the idea, Mrs Teasdale applied a quick sticking charm. Lucius released her curls, his palms tingling. She was so _soft. _

'Exquisite,' Lucius said approvingly. 'Shoes?'

'Of course.'

When Teasdale was gone, Hermione spun to look at him.

'You know very well I can't afford this!'

'Oh, _pish_,' he flicked away an imaginary fly. 'What sort of gentleman would bring you into a dressmakers and expect you to pay?'

'A modern one!' she smirked.

'A _Mr Weasley_,' Lucius nodded drily. She went pink. 'I imagine he would. Your attendance at these events, necessitated by my position, hasn't precisely been voluntary. I do hope the Minister reimbursed you for last time.'

'Actually, he said something about invoicing _you_,' she teased him.

'Fine,' Lucius gave a rare shrug. Then he added expectantly, 'So, in the name of allowing me to cover your expenses. What do you think?'

He gestured to the mirror.

'I think it's...' she threw her hands up and gave into the urge to smile. 'Amazing. But I doubt I can run in it.'

'I'm sure you can come up with a few handy charms?' he arched a brow. 'You do for everything else.'

**oOo**

The next afternoon, Hermione and Misty heard raised voices in the locked study.

'Master Draco,' Misty said, fearfully. 'Master Lucius will be in a _terrible_ humour tonight.'

Lucius retreated to the Summerhouse on the far side of the lake with his wand and a bottle and wouldn't come up to the Manor for dinner. Misty picked up the shards of broken glass from the study floor.

Hermione held her coat close against the biting cold. The weather had taken a turn for the worse, just in time for Christmas. It was dark by the lake. Even her _Lumos_ did little to lift the wraith-like fog or dispel her quiet, irrational fears. Her breath fogged as she navigated the uneven path and trod lightly - and quickly - over the little rope and wood bridge used to access the far side. A waterfall that began in the topmost pond and ran down seven tiers to reach the lake below was frozen solid.

She knocked the door and waited. He didn't answer.

'Lucius?' she called.

She tried the door. It was locked. She sighed a soft cloud of vapour and spoke to the wood.

'I can see your wandlight,' she said, a bit exasperatedly. 'I just want to know you're OK.'

Nothing. Hermione sighed in annoyance.

_'Please?_' she tried.

The lock clicked open. Relieved, she pushed the door and stepped into the artificial warmth he'd created with a charm expression morphed from irritation into weary resignation. He lifted a glass to his lips.

'Surely you understand that a locked door means I'd sooner not be disturbed.'

'Well...if you want me to go, why did you let me in?' she said reasonably.

'Shut the door,' he sighed. 'I'd sooner not add a chill to my list of minor vexations.'

She padded across the deep, dark leather rug, made from little strips tied through a backing net. He lounged in a padded chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle.

Hermione perched on the arm.

'What on _Earth_ drew you down here? It's _not_ the most comfortable spot, considering you have an entire Manor!'

'A different perspective,' he said.

'The house looks beautiful from down here-' she observed.

'Hermione,' he sighed. 'Will you _please_ stop talking.'

She rolled her eyes at his blunt manner but obliged him. After a minute, he put a gentle hand on her hip. It warmed her through her coat.

'Come here,' he murmured. He patted his lap.

He put his glass down and gave her a gentle tug. It was by no means intended to unseat her. It was just encouragement.

'_You_ want a cuddle?' she asked quietly, disbelievingly, anxiously. Her voice was breathy and thin.

'I don't _want _one. I _need_ one.'

She slid into his lap. He helped her into a comfortable position, across his legs with her head tucked into the crook of his neck. She could smell his skin, feel his rough Five O Clock shadow against her temple. He was so _warm_. He picked up his glass and laid his free hand on her knee. It wasn't exactly a sexual gesture, more casual. It felt reassuring and sweet and rather protective. It made her heart go warm.

Her curls tickled his jaw. He pressed his rough cheek to her temple and closed his eyes. The silence stretched while he breathed regularly in and out. He sighed softly. She sensed it was a release of tension rather than the irritation of before. His hold on her grew a bit more confident, though no less casual and he turned his face to bury his nose gently in her hair. He stayed that way, until at last he smiled against her temple.

'Professor Snape would have a conniption,' he said drily. 'Don't you think?'

She smiled to his jaw, delighted that his low mood seemed to have ebbed. He was back to his normal self, which wasn't a huge improvement at any rate, but it was better than an angry, hurt Lucius.

'He'd probably faint,' she agreed.

He adjusted his hold again, one arm around her waist, the other hand on her thigh.

'You miss him, don't you? You mention him a lot,' she didn't move from her comfortable spot.

'Severus and I were good friends. Even during the worst times.'

'I never really saw him for what he was. Not until the end,' she whispered. 'He was so brave.'

'He was a difficult man,' Lucius said softly. 'Exceptionally stubborn. He certainly knew how to get under my skin but...he was a loyal friend. He was company at times too, when Draco was away and my wife-' he stopped.

Hermione waited, sensing he'd continue but the silence stretched on. She decided not to press him.

He was so fair-skinned that she could see his bare throat in the near dark. She brushed his Adams Apple with her fingertips. He tilted his chin up willingly, allowing her time to explore unhindered.

He caught her hand gently and turned it over to expose her wrist. His thumb stroked a steady rhythm over her pulse. She shivered in delicious anticipation, feeling vulnerable in a new way.

She wasn't sure if he irritated her, frightened her or aroused her most of all. Perhaps it was all three. His hand swallowed hers. He memorised her delicate fingers with butterfly touches. Heat coiled around the base of her spine. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles softly. Her heart swelled in a supremely confusing way she'd only felt once before, with Ron. She flushed pink, unexpectedly shy.

She could hear her heart thumping in her ears. She was dizzy with anticipation.

Their eyes locked. His grey eyes became heavy as he leaned in and fluttered closed as he brushed his soft lips over hers. She tightened her grip on his hand. She was unwilling to risk startling him by kissing back too enthusiastically but she needed to feel like he wouldn't let go _so badly_.

He broke the contact to search her eyes. Her voice seized up, her breath came in short, helpless little gasps. He rested his forehead gently against hers. His hair tickled her face. She tried to drive down the relentless tremble in her hands. She was terrified he'd misinterpret it as fear. He drew her hand gently to his chest and pressed her palm to his heart. It thudded. It was like a punch in the guts. He was _terrified,_ and he was _sharing that with her. _

'Lucius-' she managed, breathily.

He kissed her a bit more confidently. It was chaste by the standards of Quidditch players but it felt more intimate than anything she'd done with Ron. She kissed back, her body gone small, her head tilted back.

Lucius tightened his hold on her protectively. He'd felt this body language before. It was willingness with an edge of desperate submission and it inflamed him from the outside in. It called to a deep, hidden part of his personality that he never made public; the need to own that which was most beautiful, most delicate, and protect it. _Earn_ its love.

He needed her to_ need_ him. He needed a strong woman to show him her secret vulnerability.

'You're trembling,' he took her smaller hands in one of his.

Hermione kissed him softly on the corner of his mouth and then returned her lips to his for a soft, shallow exploration. He touched her tongue with his briefly to gauge her reaction and found her pliant and willing. He drew away to breathe, to calm his raging erection, to kiss her jaw tenderly. He guided her head gently into the crook of his neck and laid his hand protectively on the back of her neck. Hermione relaxed completely, all her secret, atavistic fear snatched away by the simple promise that he was now protecting her most vulnerable place.

Hermione played gently with his loose hair. She dozed very briefly and woke in his arms.

Lucius helped her to her feet when the warming charm wore off and the Summerhouse began to cool. Before she could open the door he caught her around the waist and pulled her close. She laughed softly when he considerately wrapped his coat around her. He pressed his cheek to hers. Neither wanted to rush or risk the consequences of the wrong action at the wrong moment. Then he bent and laid his mouth gently on hers, his lips soft and damp. Arousal pooled between her legs and heat grew between in her heart. His proximity inflamed an explosion of unfamiliar feelings.

He caressed her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. She made a hungry little noise and buried her hands in his jacket, tugging him down. His tongue met hers, stroking a slow, patient pattern that made her flush and weaken. She gasped, losing any sense of control of the kiss as he tasted her tongue and nibbled her bottom lip, bringing it artfully into his mouth to be suckled and sensitized. She gave a soft, eager moan as he twined his tongue languidly with hers, suggesting a wealth of carnal experience that she definitely couldn't match yet. He felt as though he had no need to rush. That turned her on more than Ron ever had. Her knickers were soaking.

'I _won't_ take advantage,' he whispered, with a hand on either side of her face gently. He regarded her with kissed, pink lips and appreciative grey eyes.

He buried his hand wordlessly in her loose curls and pulled her against his chest, his arms tight and reassuring. She breathed in his scent and stood like that until the urgent throbbing between her legs turned into a pleasant ache.

'Shall we take a little cold air?' he asked with a smile.

Lucius waited for her beside the water. When she joined him, smiling a little nervously, he offered his hand warmly. She slid her palm into his and walked close to his side back to the Manor.

'Don't you think this is _insane_?' she finally said, her happiness shining through her doubts despite her best intentions.

His arched eyebrow was a silent question.

'You...and _me_?' she said doubtfully. 'If anyone saw this...they'd think we're both_ completely_ crazy!'

Lucius gazed at their joined hands. Silently, he lead her into the study, where Misty had crafted a roaring fire for their return. The sound of pouring liquid and the crackle of flames was the only break from silence. Lucius handed her a glass of her favourite Port and sat delicately down beside her.

'Perhaps,' he began tentatively, 'We should both have a drink,' he clinked his glass gently against hers. 'When we're both quite drunk, we'll retire to our rooms and in the morning,' he arched a single brow, 'we'll either be rather close acquaintances...or something more, yes?'

Hermione nodded with a smile and sipped her drink, resolving not to take too much alcohol tonight, lest she wake up and forget they kissed at all.

Before she left to go to bed, Lucius offered an open arm. She accepted the silent invitation. Their lips met in a brief, soft kiss.

'Goodnight,' he murmured tenderly, against her mouth.

'Goodnight,' she pulled away.

**oOo**

Hermione woke to the smell of breakfast and roses. Misty had obviously left the kitchen door open again. There was a perfect white rose laying beside her on the spare, silky pillow. There was a tiny scroll wound around the stem. She pulled it loose tentatively, her heart thumping in fear of what she might find. It was quite silly but she felt his rejection at this point would really _hurt_.

**Lest you think me a cad. **

**Respectfully yours, Lucius. **

She laughed in relief.

She was nervous at breakfast, unsure of what to say or how to behave. Their sudden intimacy had changed their familiar dynamic. Her heart felt a bit too delicate for his sarcastic personal attacks, though she didn't want to admit that to herself yet. Lucius placed his warm, dry hand on the back of hers. His grey eyes were friendly. _God, he's handsome_, she thought. _I fought so hard not to see it before_. He wore the trademark Malfoy smirk, though this time it more closely resembled a smile than a tool for her humiliation.

'How did you sleep, Hermione?'

She exhaled a slightly shaky breath.

'Fine,' she smiled. 'I think I had a _bit_ too much to drink though, to be honest.'

He arched a brow in wry agreement. He warmed a little patch of skin just behind her knuckles with the paper-dry caress of his thumb-tip. She sensed he meant it as a gesture of respect and reassurance.

'Did you?' she echoed.

His eyebrow made another ascent. He wasn't venomous this morning. _Dry,_ perhaps. She could see he had the potential to be very witty and certainly extremely moody when irked.

'A little too much to drink,' he confessed. Then he smiled drily. 'I'm sure I'll live. As usual.'

She held up the white rose a bit nervously and to her horror, began to blush. She stumbled over her words.

'I-Thank you. It's actually...my favourite colour.'

'I hope you don't think me too forward?' he enquired mildly.

'No,' she shook her head.

His fine, aristocratic brow furrowed in mild concern.

'I'm sure I've never seen you go so shy, my dear.'

Hermione closed her eyes softly in embarrassment. She smiled at her own reaction.

'Don't,' she teased. 'You'll just make it worse.'

He smiled gently. 'Though I appreciate it could take some time for you to realise it, you needn't be shy with me.'

He patted her hand gently and gestured to her plate. 'Bon appetit, Kitten.'

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	8. Flatliner

**A/N - Hi everyone! A huge Thank You to all my reviewers, as well as all those who followed and favourited. I checked the other day and there are now 50 people following this story. I can't begin to say how chuffed I am! That support has really kept me going. Anyone who writes novel-length fanfics will know these stories aren't easy by any means and knowing people want to read more keeps motivation up, so thank you! **

**Apologies for the wait. This chapter has given me some grief and unfortunately, I've been suffering terrible back and chest pain, so sitting up at the computer has been mighty uncomfortable! I also had to do quite a lot of editing, so...I hope it reads well!**

* * *

><p><span>8. Flatliner<span>

The Grandfather clock that stood on the landing not far from her bedroom door chimed One AM. Hermione dreamed she was falling off the kerb again and jolted awake with a big gasp. Distantly familiar runes swam around the inside of her head like confused fish. She tried to will them into coherence but stubbornly, the key to their meaning waited in the wings of her mind for an unknown cue. Suddenly, she had an irrepressible urge to hold a quill, to _see_ the Equation. She had that tetchy, restless feeling she always got when she was hovering on the brink of a discovery.

She left her warm bed and put her dressing gown on over her matching teddy-bear PJ's. She crossed the dark Manor by wand-light. Misty always left a few of the oil lamps burning low on the stairs but the corridors were black. The library hearth was dead and the drapes were drawn against the chilly night. Her breath fogged as she sat down in her usual chair and stared at the softly shimmering lines of her unbalanced Equation. Her fingers were so cold that she could hardly feel the wooden handle of her wand as she flicked it at the fireplace with a silent _Incendio_.

Hermione traced and retraced the familiar paths of her own logic.

A flashbulb went off in her head. On a whim, she swapped two runes and introduced a previously unexplored variable. Anxious to prove her theory, she touched the tip of her wand to the parchment and whispered the incantation to recalculate.

Seconds dragged by. The Equation shimmered red and then turned green. It settled.

'YES!' she yelled. 'Oh my God! How could I be so _stupid!'_

She stared at the page in numb realisation._ It's done. I solved it!_

An unexpected breeze tried to pick up the pages of _Anonymous'_ riddlesome work which lay open on the desk. The squeaky floorboard just outside the door betrayed the presence of someone with more mass than an elf. Lucius greeted her with a raised wand. He looked tired. His usually perfect hair was tousled from sleep. He snapped his wand back into his cane with a huff of exasperation when he realised it was only his house-guest.

'What on Earth are you doing! Merlin's _balls_. I thought you were an intruder!'

'I'm sorry,' she said honestly. 'Something really...weird...just happened to me! You _have_ to see this!'

'Kitten, it's the _middle of the night,_' he protested.

She pushed her Equation into his hands. He was very good at Arithmancy. It was part of his gift for finances. He noted the subtle, slimline nuances of her calculation and felt a sudden surge of powerful respect. It was a work of art.

'Well, well, my dear,' he conceded finally. 'This is...impressive indeed.'

Hermione glowed in her academic achievement. Lucius found her particularly, strikingly beautiful in this state. Her cheeks were a bit pink, her lips suddenly plump. She was smart, beautiful and humble. Perversely, those qualities had once drawn him to Narcissa, though this pretty Muggleborn package presented them rather differently. Lucius wrenched his gaze back to the paper.

'I was looking at it all wrong,' she nearly bounced. 'Xeoforce doesn't destroy the DNA pairs for magic like we thought! It only forces them into dormancy! It's so _obvious!_ This potion,' she gestured to her most recently translated page of _A M Anonymous'_ work. 'Is a simple countercurse. Except it's absolutely _ancient_. Whoever wrote this had at least a basic grasp of genetics. Quite remarkable considering it was written if 1495!'

Lucius looked at her questioningly.

'Footnotes,' she explained. 'He must have been a time traveller. Some of his own runes have double meanings. This one,' she pointed to her translation. 'Means _secret smile._'

She smiled.

'I think he was Da Vinci. Of course, this is only the start. Genetic Squibbery is a completely different matter, but if I can get the project up and running again...who knows!?'

'I admit,' his lips lifted lightly. 'I'm...amazed by your intellect. Might I suggest an insurance policy? I have a vault. Store this there until the Ministry opens up again after Christmas. We wouldn't want to go taking chances, would we?'

Hermione nodded.

'That'd be great. Thank you, Lucius. I mean...without you, I wouldn't have found this. The book was a necessary piece of the puzzle.'

'Think nothing of it,' he said. He sounded genuine.

Her heart went a bit warm.

**oOo**

Lucius unwound the complex enchantments that protected his vault. He drew open the heavy iron door with his wand. Hermione's mouth went dry. The contents - mostly gold bullion - must have been worth three million. She placed her originals down in a neat pile, taking only a few wand-copies of pertinent pieces of information to help her continue her research into Genetic Squibbery.

_Who keeps that much money just sitting around at home?_

She was lost for anything to say as he closed the vault. It felt as though a big chasm had opened between them. He could clearly afford anything and anyone he wanted. A small, insecure part of her wondered what she could possibly offer. How she could possibly compare to a rich Pureblood?

The wards rocked suddenly, saving her from needing to dance around her discomfort. A horrible chill raced over her like a premonition of imminent danger. She could feel the low, bassy thrum of an attempted break-in through the floor.

'Ah,' he murmured, his lips tilting up. 'I was hoping your pursuers would have the sense not to come here.'

'It _can't_ be them,' Hermione said quickly. 'Please tell me they can't actually _get in!'_

Lucius brushed a warm hand over her elbow. He meant to reassure her. It took the edge off Hermione's private worries.

They crept to the top of the stairs together, wands drawn. The foyer Floo connection spat and sparked red, suggesting that someone was trying to use a complex hacking jinx.

Fairwater stumbled through the Floo with an uncomfortably loud _crack_. He bent double, panting and sick from the rocky ride. Skye came behind him. A third man thumped into Skye's back.

'Fucking ostentatious,' he said derisively, at the Manor.

'Just fire and run, Holloway,' coughed Fairwater. 'We're not here to sight-see.'

_'Petrificus Totalus!'_ Hermione yelled. Skye hit the stone on his back.

Lucius fired a silent hex at Fairwater. He dodged. The curse he sent back hit Lucius' shield and wrenched his wand hand back. Hermione lunged forward to shield Lucius as Fairwater rattled off another spell. The curse hit her shield and sent a sizzle of terrible pain up her arm.

Lucius grabbed Hermione by the waist and disapparated.

'Shit!' Hermione hid behind the statue of Pan on the first floor landing.

Lucius rubbed his wand hand uncomfortably.

'We need some help,' she said quickly. 'I've never felt anyone so strong before. They're _obviously_ using Mactoduplex.'

Lucius' loose hair tickled the pattern on his nearly black bed robe as he turned his head to listen.

Fairwater gestured with his wand to the staircase. 'They're in here somewhere.'

Lucius murmured an incantation. Every door in the Manor slammed shut. The men spun on the spot to raise their wands at the doors and found nothing to strike. Lucius smirked. Misty dissolved out of the shadows.

'Ah, Misty,' Lucius arched a brow. 'We have intruders. Welcome them.'

'Yes, Master,' Misty nodded. A devious smile spread over her face. She dissolved silently.

'Don't open any doors, my dear. Almost every room is boobytrapped now.'

'Well...I'm glad to see you're prepared for every eventuality.'

'Naturally,' he drew himself up. 'The Manor...and her secrets...have been the property of the Malfoy family for five hundred years. I will not allow three _addicts_ to change that.'

Hermione smiled. A bit of confidence bled back to her. She peered over the bannister to find the source of the _thumping_ footsteps.

Misty's bony fingers danced an intricate pattern as she puppeted the stone angel that normally sat innocuously atop the ballroom fireplace. His hot-coal eyes narrowed in fury. Skye whirled and screamed. He danced backwards to avoid the giant, clawed hand that threatened evisceration with a single swipe.

'What the fuck!' he yelled in horror.

'What's_ that_!' Hermione asked.

'My guardian angel,' Lucius smirked, wryly. A laugh bubbled up her throat.

The angel lashed out with the folded joint of a stone wing. Fairwater smacked into the wall and hung there until Holloway sliced off a stone arm with a vicious swipe. It smashed to dust a debris on the carpet. The puppet shrieked and lunged with his one hand outstretched. His marble mouth was full of needle-teeth. Holloway slashed and sliced. Stone feathers thumped and broke. Finally, the angel toppled into a cloud of marble dust.

'Damn it all!' hissed Lucius, irately. 'That spell was_ expensive!'_

Hermione gave a little shriek as Pan came to life under Bobbly's capable fingers. He clopped down the long staircase and raised his lyre for a wallop. Skye sliced him apart.

Hermione cast a wordless _Stupefy _at his back. He toppled. Fairwater freed him with a lazy flick of his wand.

'Up there!' Fairwater pointed.

'What do you think you're doing!' Lucius looked as though he'd sucked a whole lemon.

'Defending myself!' she yelled. 'Are you going to_ help_ me or just stand there staring!'

'Really Hermione, that's what I have _elves_ for!'

Hermione rounded on him like an angry cat.

'I will not sit here like a princess and wait to be murdered and I will not-' she stamped her foot. 'Let Misty and Bobbly fight all alone! Why don't you get your wand our of your arse? Assuming, that is, that you're _not_ using it as a backbone!'

His eyes grew cold. He drew himself up imperiously.

'We'll discuss your tone_ and_ your blatant disregard for your health and mine_ later_.'

Hermione leg-locked Holloway. He hopped like the winner of the School sack-race before he managed to dissolve the jinx. His riposte shattered the windowpane behind her head. Lucius made a soft noise of horror and countered with a nasty curse. Holloway flicked it wide.

Hermione cast her custom stinger at Skye. He went down with a yowl. Stone exploded at her ear, coating her hair in delicate white shimmer.

Misty cackled happily as she controlled a suit of armour. It stabbed and punched, driving Holloway towards the boobytrapped Office.

'Lucius, I _really_ think you need to let your elves get angry a _bit_ more often.'

The suit made an almighty clatter as it fell off the landing and hit the ground floor. A volley of hexes blasted the stone bannisters apart. There was a resounding _crack_ as a statue of Venus toppled.

'Holloway!' Skye shrieked, as a stone doe bit down on his ankle and dragged him toward the edge of the floor. He clung to the broken stone until Holloway blasted the doe apart.

Stone dust rained down from a broken pillar that toppled onto the crimson carpet with a bone-shaking _thud_.

'Block for me!' Hermione yelled.

She leaned around Lucius' shield to fire a curse.

'Change!' she yelled breathlessly, and cast her own shield as he fired.

Lucius flicked his hair off his face. _Of course_, he thought. _Gryffindor's make good team players._

_'Just kill them!'_ Fairwater yelled.

Misty puppeted a stuffed lioness who opened her mouth in silent threat. Holloway held her back with a barrage of cutting curses.

A rope of Fiendfyre spurted from Holloway's wand. It bit into the drapes and caught on the carpets. Black smoke billowed.

'My house!' Lucius whispered in blind horror. Then his face twisted in fury. _'My house!'_

He struck at Holloway with a complex dark curse. A wall of Fiendfyre drove him back before he could_ Avada_ the man.

Hermione hit the ceiling with a broad sprinkler charm she'd looked up after the destruction of Grimmauld Place.

_'Crucio!_'

The Unforgivable stirred Lucius' hair as it whipped by. Lucius locked up in silent, temporary terror. Then he raised his wand. Hermione felt his rage and sensed he was about to cast worse in return. She grabbed his forearm.

'Don't! Don't you_ dare_. They'll send you straight back to Azkaban!'

His lip curled in fury but life and feeling returned to his eyes. His huff disturbed his hair as he resorted to less dangerous spells.

The Fiendfyre swarmed into a million tiny, hissing bugs that ate the paintings and destroyed the drapes. They rose in a column of searing heat and consumed the delicate murals painted on the plaster ceiling. They merged into a loping bear that reduced the stairs carpet to ash and cracked the stone as it tried to reach them.

'Countercurse!' Hermione yelled desperately. 'What's the countercurse for Fiendfyre!'

'I've never head reason to know,' Lucius admitted tightly as the bear morphed into a phoenix. It opened its white-hot beak and surged.

A sphere of shimmering protection expanded from the tip of Lucius' wand. A hot wind picked up their hair as the phoenix vortexed around them. It tried to stab its flaming beak through their protection.

Beads of sweat appeared on Lucius' brow. Hermione wasn't sure if it was the effort of powerful, sustained magic or just the awful heat inside the fireball.

Misty stood on the first floor landing. She'd been born at the Manor. She'd seen the rise and fall of three generations of Malfoys. Fire creatures raced around the cavernous space. Salamanders tried to breach the warded rooms. For the first time in many years Misty was _angry_.

Hermione aimed her wand up and joined her shield to his. A tingle of magic lanced up her arm. Their magical connection felt like a perfect, tender golden thread joining her heart to his.

Their wrists bumped. Blisters rose on their hands. Their charm shrank as the phoenix bit down.

Hermione put her face in the crook of his neck, just under his jaw and breathed in his scent. Lucius urged her face into the right position and kissed her. She made a soft, delicious noise of perfect need and buried her warm fingers in his hair. He could feel her glowing core of life-force and her warm, thumping heart as though they shared the same body. He thrust his tongue gently into her mouth and clasped her around the waist so that their bodies were flush.

Her heart opened. Lucius saw the brightness of her tentative love, growing inside her like a foetus. His eyes popped open in shock. Hers were closed, her lashes soft and warm. He grew hard as she stroked his scalp.

The roar died. The Fiends convulsed and extinguished. Black smoke convected, stinging their eyes. Misty's legs trembled. She swayed on the bottom step.

'Misty!' The staircase groaned under her weight.

Hermione ran down the spiral stairs and spilled onto the first floor landing. She grabbed Misty in both arms.

'Miss-' Misty's breath was shallow. 'Master!'

'Oh my God, Misty. What did you do!' Hermione hugged her close, trying to share some vital body-heat.

'Misty put men...in the cellar,' the elf said softly.

Lucius took Misty's trembling hand.

'We _have_ to get her to a hospital,' Hermione made to stand.

Footsteps echoed up the stairs. Harry raced towards them. He was covered in soot and backed by six Aurors and a healer.

'Harry!' Hermione choked. 'God, she's going **cold!'**

Hermione's eyes filled with tears. Misty's work-weathered hand trembled in the cage of Lucius' fingers.

'Misty is proud to serve...the noble house of-' she stilled.

'No-' Hermione choked. Tears blurred her vision. By the time she cleared them, Misty gazed up, unseeing. 'No. This is _all_ my fault. It's _me_ they want!'

'She did what any elf would to protect her family,' Lucius leaned in to whisper; 'We'll discuss this later, Kitten. It isn't your fault.'

**oOo**

Bobbly lead them down to the wine cellar. Misty has stashed the three wands in a candle sconce not far from the steps. Bobbly held them tightly in her fist. Her big eyes were full of tears. She tried to avoid looking at Misty's body, cradled in Lucius' arms.

Hermione was freezing. It was usually fairly warm underground but shock had settled into her bones. Her temple pounded with an oncoming headache.

Madeleine dragged Skye up by the scruff of his neck and pointed her wand at his brain-stem.

'You need to watch them,' Hermione put in. 'The Mactoduplex makes them really strong.'

'Fairwater,' Harry spat. 'I want to say I'm surprised. But I'm not. Not with _you.'_

'Survival of the fittest, Potter,' Fairwater spat a mouthful of blood at Harry's feet.

'Right,' Harry nodded coldly. 'Well, you'd better keep on surviving. So you can enjoy Azkaban.'

Bobbly snapped her fingers with a crack that sounded furious. The knife Fairwater was hiding between his thumbs magnetised to her hand. She folded her skinny arms. Her ears lay flat back like an angry horse.

'Damned critter-' hissed Fairwater venomously.

Bobbly made a furious little noise. She stalked up the steps, her little bare feet slapping on the stone, the wands clutched close.

'The plot thickens, Mr Potter,' Lucius said smugly. '_Two_ Ministry employees in one day? I can only imagine how upsetting _this_ will be for the Minister.'

'That's not my department,' Harry said flatly.

Hermione's eyes were grainy and puffy.

'I'll be back soon,' Harry gestured to Misty. 'I'm sorry.'

**oOo**

Bobbly brewed a pot of tea. The whistle of the kettle broke the silence. Every so often, Bobbly wiped her eyes on the ragged hem of her dirty pillowcase. She trembled tea all over the worktop. Hermione took pity on her and poured it herself.

'Sit down, Bobbly. Please. For me?' she asked.

Despite the impropriety inherent in sitting down with her betters, Bobbly obediently perched on the edge of a chair. She hung her head and sniffled.

'Misty is...Bobbly's sister.'

'I'm _so_ sorry, Bobbly. I don't know what happened.'

Lucius was silent. He stared at the white little hand nearest to his index finger, lost in his private thoughts.

'Bobbly know,' the elf wiped her nose on the back of her hand. 'Misty drain her magic.'

Hermione chewed her lip and closed her eyes. She couldn't shake the feeling she'd caused this, albeit indirectly.

**oOo**

Harry returned with a team of Aurors. They shored up the wards and layered government-level protection over the Manor. They disconnected the Floo and stationed hidden bodyguards around the grounds and house.

Madeleine leaned on the kitchen counter, her backside against the stove. Hermione broke the silence.

'I thought the Manor wards were the strongest of _any_ safe house. What on Earth are we going to do now?'

Lucius was unresponsive. He gazed at his elf numbly. Hermione wanted to touch Misty's fast cooling arm just to say goodbye but she was too squeamish. A row of bulbous elf eyes watched from the walls.

'Would someone fetch a sheet or something?' Hermione sighed finally. 'It's awful.._.looking_ at her...like this.'

They draped the bed-sheet over Misty. It helped a bit.

'We need to bury her.'

'Bobbly will take care of it,' Bobbly crossed her skinny arms and sniffed. 'Misty was Bobbly's only family. It's Bobbly's _responsibility_.'

'Bobbly,' Lucius finally spoke up. 'Spare no expense.'

There was a sinking, hollow, empty feeling in Hermione's chest. It made her want to cry again, even though crying couldn't banish the very real physical sensation of sudden loss. She found a bit of comfort in her tea. The warmth was very grounding. She focused her attention on the light, purple veins in her hands, the tiny white hairs that decorated her wrists. Anything to buy a moments peace from the tug of impossible pain.

'The Brockelfort party is tomorrow,' Hermione said. 'I'm the one they want, Harry. I-I won't have anyone else _die_ for me. Please. Let's just get it over and done with? I can't live in constant fear like this.'

'No,' Harry said quickly. 'You're not using yourself as bait.'

'I must say,' Lucius drawled, 'It's not doing much for _my_ nerves either.'

'This isn't about you, Malfoy,' Harry said.

'He _is_ involved, Harry,' Hermione defended Lucius quickly. 'This is hardly fair on him.'

'Quite,' Lucius eyed Harry coldly.

'It might be our best chance to find Delamere,' she added.

'I don't like this,' Harry said.

'I know. It's the best plan we've got so far. Unless anyone else has a better idea?'

**oOo**

Hermione wand-dried her hair and applied a few charms to bring down her puffy eyes and cover her pallor. She enlisted Madeleine's help to get into her dress. She didn't want to call on Bobbly. The Auror had an unlikely gift with her corset. Hermione didn't ask where she'd learned it.

'You don't have to do this,' Madeleine pointed out.

'I know,' Hermione agreed. 'I'm going anyway. I can't stand being trapped in this house.'

Madeleine smirked. Hermione could see it in the full-length reflection.

'Living with Malfoy can't be easy,' the Auror said.

'It's usually not,' Hermione admitted. 'I just feel...trapped. I can't go anywhere alone.'

Madeleine looked a little embarrassed.

'Hex and I will be at the estate borders with long-range sensor charms. If you need us, just give the signal.'

Hermione nodded.

'Are you scared, Miss Granger?'

'Yes,' Hermione breathed, honestly.

'Good,' Madeleine offered her a smile. 'Fear will keep you sharp. You're ready.'

**oOo**

The Brockelfort Gothic Manor had a church-like quality to its dot and dash formation of window and wall. Intricate stone gargoyles leered from odd angles. A long set of white marble steps lead up the grandest set of oak doors Hermione had ever seen.

Rosaline mingled among her guests. Her figure-hugging black dress dragged the floor like the tail of a hellish peacock. Hermione guessed she was using a spell to secure her breasts. Her gown was cut so low there was no possibility of a bra. Hermione saw no hint of Brockelfort.

The Christmas mansion was a cornucopia of smells and sights designed to tantalise the senses and incite desire. It was a sinful carnival of the most decadent sort. Alcohol flowed freely. They passed a couple kissing around a grape.

'You look flushed,' Lucius bent to speak to her. 'It's very becoming.'

Hermione dipped her head. Lucius caught her chin with his smooth, warm index finger. He rubbed her bottom lip gently with his thumb. The gesture made her warm and_ wet_. His steel eyes were foggy and warm. He bent his head slowly and brushed a brief, tender kiss over the spot his thumb had sensitized. Hermione's breath came out a bit shaky. When he looked at her like that, she felt like she was the centre of his universe. It lit a fire of potent need inside her. She'd never felt so _wanted_.

'Noone will touch you,' he promised.

He seized her hand and placed it gently over the handle of his wand, which was just under the edge of his robe, through his belt loop. Though he didn't say it, Hermione felt his meaning. He'd protect her, not because she needed it. Because he _wanted_ to. She shivered with the intimacy of touching his wand. His simple act of trust said more about his feelings for her than any kiss so far.

They wandered between the sitting guests. There were cushions spread around and the bay window seats were already densely populated.

Despite the prevalence of Christmas related decorations and the snow charmed to evaporate just above their heads, the party had more in common with an orgy. It degenerated quickly.

Brockelfort reclined in a corner with an older lady whose white hair hung in luscious curls to her shoulders. Lucius drew her behind pillar to whisper to her.

'Well, well. If it isn't our old friend. An excellent place to find a man with his guard down.'

'Amongst other things,' Hermione agreed. 'I really hope he doesn't try to talk to us. I need to nip to the loo. Don't take your eyes off me. I really don't want to be alone in here.'

'_Try_ not to be so crass, my dear,' he lifted an eyebrow in displeasure. 'Women do not _nip to the loo_. They _powder their noses_.'

'Well, whatever I'm going to do with myself, I need to do it _now_,' she pulled away from him.

As she laid her hand on the decorative convenience door, a shadow covered her back.

'What an exquisite gown,' Delamere said. Hermione spun to see an unfamiliar face. His polyjuice disguise fooled her long enough for him to grab her elbow. He disapparated.

**oOo**

Hermione landed hard on her knees in the entry foyer of the Delamere mansion. She whipped her wand free of her bag and pointed it at Delamere's nose.

'Get your filthy hands off me!'

He backhanded her. She hit the stone with a cry and rolled onto her back, clutching her elbow as he kicked her wand away into a dark corner. Hermione flicked her hand out. Delamere didn't expect wandless magic. Few people ever did. Her wand skittered into her grasp.

_'Stupefy!_' she yelled.

Delamere knocked her hex wide but the brief blinding light gave Hermione chance to scramble to her feet. She dodged the oncoming man and spun on her heel. The sound of ripping silver satin rent the air. She felt herself falling. She saw the chandelier.

_'Reducto!_' she yelled.

The chandelier shattered free of its anchor. Hermione scrambled backwards, leaving a half-separated ring of silver satin around her delicate shoes. The chandelier crashed down on top of one of the burly men. The other dived wide of it and before she could get to her feet, he was on her, wrestling her for control of her wand.

Delamere stood and brushed himself off. He raised his wand.

'You've been a lot more trouble than you're worth,' he said._ 'Crucio!'_

**oOo**

Hermione curled up on the floor of the warded broom closet into which two rude and burly wizards had thrown her. She trembled from the cruciatus. Her nerves were a jangled mess. When she raked a hand through her ruined up-do, she scattered hairpins over the stone floor. She'd already tried all the wandless magic she knew on the door.

Time passed. She heard the distant noises of conversation and activity. they grew fainter. She began to fear her prison. Had they left her in here to die? Hermione wasn't claustrophobic but she began to sympathise with those who were. She traced the runes of the Elder Futhark on her thigh unsteadily. She focused on the intricate meaning of each while she tried to calm her ragged breathing and pull a solution from her mind.

As her belly began to grumble and her bladder protested, a door banged open. Hermione heard the _clack clack clack_ of a cane on polished marble.

'I'm surprised you came,' said Delamere. 'Is it just loyalty, or something more?'

'I'd think...that finding yourself surrounded by Aurors and your grounds seized...that you might be more interested in finding a solution to your imminent arrest than to fence crooked words with me. Clearly, I was mistaken.'

'Lucius!' Hermione hammered on the door. She yelled so loud her own voice echoed in her ears. She hit the door with the strongest blast of wandless _reducto_ she could. It didn't give. She rested her head on the floor and kicked it with both feet. Tears shivered down her face and dripped off her ear.

A sliver of light crossed her eye. She followed it desperately and found a tiny gap in the planks. Lucius stood alone in the hall.

'Unfortunate, isn't it? Your penchant for the dramatic is overshadowed only by your own stupidity. Abducting a famous Witch in plain view of a hundred witnesses?' Lucius tutted. 'I thought you were brighter than that.'

He was still dressed in his party clothes.

'Pretty words aren't going to help, you know. Most of those witnesses, as you put it, wouldn't have lifted a finger if I'd fucked your little whore on the floor.'

'Let's both be grateful you didn't try,' drawled Lucius darkly.

Hermione kicked again. It hurt enough to bring tears to her eyes. Lucius continued, oblivious to her struggles.

'I'm sure you're very much aware that a whisper in the right ear and the right time can yield the most spectacular and unexpected results. I could offer an alternative to the destruction of your little..._empire.'_

'You're labouring under the misconception that I want your help,' Delamere scoffed.

'Want, perhaps not. Need? Certainly. Especially compromised as you are.'

'You know your problem, Malfoy? You're too damn used to getting your own way. This time, I'm going to walk away with the prize, your little friend, the potion and the money. And you're going to go back to the wreck of your life, after we've made an _arrangement.'_

'Well,' Lucius' eyebrows went up. He leaned idly on his cane. 'You certainly seem to have thought this through. Are those your terms? That I simply...retreat? I...believe...you may also have the handicap of a misconception.'

'Which is?'

Delamere raised his wand.

'You think I'm afraid of you,' Lucius' lips tilted into a shrewd smile. 'You're mistaken.'

'Well that makes it easier, I suppose,' Delamere conceded.

A blast of red was thrown aside by the slash of a cane so fast that for a split second, Hermione feared the worst. Lucius was still standing, his hair ruffled, his wand ready. There wasn't a single Auror anywhere in sight. Was he really stupid and brave enough to bluff?

Red followed blue. A volley cracked the pillar behind Lucius. Delamere straightened. He followed his first onslaught with a second with the precise, focused calm of a murderer without a shred of guilt.

Hermione yelled at the clatter of the cane.

'NO!' she screamed. He staggered. His back hit a pillar, his hair like a curtain over his face. She could see blood on his lips.

She kicked the door until the heel snapped off her shoe. She snatched it up and stabbed the broken point into the lock. It was ridiculous to think that any wizard with a shred of self respect would lock the brightest witch of her age into a broom cupboard with a deadbolt.

An electric shock sent her to her knees. Her over-sensitized nerves screamed in pain. She collapsed with her forehead against the wall. Her heart _thudded_ in her throat. She tried to raise a hand to touch her chest but her arm wouldn't respond. She closed her eyes and focused on the burn in her lungs. It took a few seconds of oxygen deprivation before she managed to take a gasp of air.

Then her heartbeat evened out. Her arm tingled.

'Shit!' she hissed, at the ceiling. It was veiled in cobwebs.

A blast of green light lit up the cupboard. There was a thud and the unmistakeable roll of a wand on the stone floor.

Then a flash of pure white followed by another, and another.

'LUCIUS!' she screamed.

She swiped the tears off her face and lined her eye up with the little hole. Lucius lay on the floor, his platinum hair splayed on his velvet cloak. His gloved hand was limp, inches from his wand. The wards on the broom closet disintegrated. She felt the tingle. Magic like that only failed when the caster died.

Hermione lifted the latch. The door swung open. One of her burly gaolers lay at the foot of the stairs. His skull was cracked open.

Delamere didn't expect to see her. It took him so long to realise she was free that she'd almost reached Lucius' wand. Her fingertips touched the smooth handle and he turned, confusion painted on his face. His lip curled, his wand came around. In the split second she had to reach the wand, the curse was already coming.

His wand magnetised to her fingers.

The shield came up accidentally. She didn't remember saying the words. She didn't remember thinking them either. It was just there, a huge convex whiteness. The curse rolled off her and blew a hole in the locked door, sending shards of wood flying.

Infuriated, Delamere neglected to check his right side. He seized suddenly. His eyes rolled back. His wand arm spasmed and he let out a shriek of pain. He staggered and crumpled to his knees. Harry lunged to grab him. Before his hand could connect, Delamere disapparated with a _crack_, leaving Harry empty handed.

'Fetch a healer, right now!' Hermione pulled Lucius onto his back.

His face was slack and pale. His limp hand seemed to reach for her knee. There wasn't a flicker of movement in his face. Not a twitch of his eyes.

Aurors filled the house. Her throat was closed. She wanted to say his name but it felt like blasphemy when he was so obviously gone.

She was cold. Time slowed to a crawl. Each thump of her heart send tendrils of aching grief down her arms and legs. She bent over a space suddenly so empty that it felt like someone had ripped out an organ and placed it on her plate.

A healer bent over Lucius, his green robes settling. He brushed back platinum hair and checked for a pulse. His hands stilled.

Then suddenly, his fingers tightened and he called to his assistant.

**oOo**

Hermione felt rough. Her hands trembled uncontrollably; an after-effect of the Cruciatus. She was edgy and tense and her nerves felt fizzy and jangled. The morning sun shone through Lucius' hair, igniting it like burning phosphor. He looked like a sleeping archangel. His face was completely at ease. He was even drooling a little. Hermione swung her legs out of bed. She put her pinky toes on the cold floor and winced. She perched quickly on his bed to get her feet off the floor and wrapped both of her hands around his. He was nice and warm. His pulse jumped gently in his neck.

The door swung open. A thirty-something man in a white coat let himself in.

'Miss Granger. I'm Dr Grey. Mr Malfoy's physician. How are you feeling?'

'A bit rough,' she admitted. 'What happened? I saw him collapse. I thought-' she left it hanging.

'The Flatliner curse,' Grey came to stand beside the bed. 'A crude but effective substitute for the _Avada_. I'm afraid it's gained popularity since the Dark Lord's demise. We're keeping him under for now. The curse had already echoed twice.'

'What does that mean? _Echoed?'_

'An echo is a cardiac arrest. Even a minor echo could obstruct blood-flow to his brain.'

'You're saying he might die-' she struggled to keep the tears out of her voice.

Dr Grey sat down. He leaned his elbows on his knees and knitted his fingers together.

'I assume you're his...girlfriend?'

_'Something_ like that,' Hermione breathed.

'He was clinically dead for nearly three minutes. We won't know the extent of any damage until we bring him round.'

'You're saying he might be brain damaged.'

'Yes. I'm sorry, Miss Granger. We'll do our best.'

Hermione squeezed Lucius' hand. He gave no response.

'Talk to him,' Grey shrugged lightly. 'You never know. A familiar voice might give him reason to fight back.'

**oOo**

'He hasn't woken up, then?' Harry gestured to Lucius, who breathed evenly but gave no sign of awareness.

'No,' she folded her arms. 'He's _worrying _me, Harry. The longer he stays under, the less the chance he'll wake up at all.'

'Hermione,' he took her by the shoulders. 'What's going on here, exactly? I've never seen you cry for anyone except Ron. Have you even been home?'

'No,' she admitted uncomfortably. 'I don't dare, Harry. What if we wakes up?'

'What if he does?' Harry's gaze was intense.

Hermione tried to swallow her tears.

'Is that part of whatever...relationship...he's got you into?'

_'Honestly_, Harry, you sound like you're accusing him of coercing me or something. It's nothing like that. I owe him. We've been through a lot together, in case you've forgotten.'

Harry searched her eyes.

'It's not my business,' he concluded. 'Just...are you safe, 'Mione? That's all I want to know. Whatever's going on...I just want to know you're OK.'

'I'm fine,' she spread her hands. 'I promise. The second I'm not, you'll be the first to know. OK?'

'OK,' Harry nodded.

'Harry, did you find Delamere?'

'No,' Harry admitted. 'Not yet.'

'Shit,' she whispered as she sat back down beside Lucius. 'What the hell are we going to do?'

'You need to keep your heads low,' Harry said. 'We're working on him. Hex thinks she's got a lead in Belgium. It looks like you won't be going anywhere for a bit. Don't go anywhere without an escort.'

Hermione nodded mutely. 'OK.'

**oOo**

Hermione took a thorough bath in the hospital facilities. She didn't like their vanilla scented products but it was better than the sicky, disinfectant smell. It was quite late when a small _pop_ alerted Hermione to company. Bobble padded around the end of Lucius' hospital bed carrying a bunch of plump red grapes wrapped up in newspaper. She handed Hermione an overnight bag with a shy smile.

'Oh you're an absolute star!' Hermione grinned, when she found fresh pyjamas and underwear for them both. Bobbly had packed a few books too and back issues of the Daily Prophet. '_Thank you_, Bobbly.'

'Miss is welcome,' Bobbly said. 'We place Misty in stasis. Wait for you both to come home...for ceremony.'

Bobbly peered up at Lucius. He hadn't moved at all. Twice a day nurse came in to change his intravenous medication and turn him one way or the other. Bobbly gave a sad, tired sigh at the sight of her prone master.

'Elves all worry,' she wrung her hands a little. 'Master see us fed. He teach us charms for warming our clothes,' she plucked at her pillowcase and gave Hermione a seldom-seen smile. 'He not so bad, as Masters go. Just a bit prickly.'

Hermione laughed.

'Tell me about it,' she smirked. Bobbly gave a smile and a bow.

'Bobbly come if Miss call,' she said. She disapparated.

The nurse came in to draw their curtains and offer Hermione a cup of sweet tea. She gladly accepted. When the ward was quiet and dark but for the glow of the nurses' office, Hermione ran her fingers gently through his lank, platinum hair and whispered about everything and nothing. He didn't stir but she took comfort in his regular pulse and steady breathing.

**oOo**

Hermione ate her hospital Christmas dinner off a tray.

'Perhaps we should liquidise some for him,' Ginny suggested. 'On the understanding that I get to stick the needle in,' she added.

'You're a bit scary sometimes,' Hermione smirked at her.

Ginny offered Hermione the other end of her Christmas cracker. Hermione pulled it. Ginny played with the pink hair grip that fell out. The enchanted flower waved softly in an invisible wind.

'I promise you'll get your presents as soon as I get out of here,' Hermione smiled ruefully.

'Don't worry about it, Herms,' Ginny smiled as she casually clipped Lucius' hair back with the grip. She shrugged mischievously when they both stared at her. 'We can do it after Christmas. It'll stretch out the fun!'

Ginny gazed down at the unconscious man.

'Suits him.'

Hermione was the first to crack. She fell into Harry, laughing. Soon the three were giggling and dividing up the Christmas pudding with its tiny, enchanted, singing Santa.

**oOo**

'I can scarcely imagine a better sight to wake up to,' Lucius murmured. He turned his head to gaze at Hermione, who was sitting cross legged on her bed, biting the tip of her quill as she made notes in her research diary.

Hermione slid off her bed and took his hand.

'Oh my God! Lucius,' she snatched the pink grip out of his hair apologetically and stashed it in her robe pocket. She pressed the buzzer to summon the nurse. 'How are you feeling?'

'Dreadful,' he croaked. 'As though I've been kicked to death and back.'

'You sort of were,' Hermione nodded. 'Delamere hit you with the Flatliner curse. It stopped your heart. Lucius! Don't try to get up. Don't even _think_ about it. You have to keep still. Dr Grey says the echoes are still in your system. Your heart could stop again.'

He gave her a soft, apologetic look.

'I'm afraid...I rather need to move a_ few_ muscles, Kitten. Toward the gentleman's room?'

'Oh,' she said, uncomfortably. 'OK. They probably won't let you, you know. It might be a bottle job.'

'How _delightful,_' he drawled. 'I think not. I'd rather die in the attempt.'

'Don't joke about that,' she said unhappily. 'You _really_ worried me.'

Lucius squeezed her hand reassuringly. His strength failed too quickly. He made a face of discomfort. His cheeks pinkened in embarrassment at his own helplessness.

'It's OK,' Hermione soothed his wounded pride quickly. 'You'll be stronger soon.'

**oOo**

Lucius' request for a bottle of firewhisky went unheeded. Bobbly popped in once or twice a day to bring books and correspondence. Lucius _scritched_ away at a letter to answer a friend with whom he was playing a game of postal chess.

'You'll work yourself to death,' Hermione pointed out.

'Really, my dear, must you so be dramatic?'

_'Someone's_ back to normal,' her eyebrows went up.

'Someone is about ready to leave this insufferable place.'

'If you even _think_ about it, I swear I'll hex you bald!'

Lucius' lips turned up in a tiny smirk.

'I had no idea you'd taken to the profession of gaoler.'

'It's one of my more _unusual_ hobbies,' she said darkly.

'You're very good,' he nodded coldly. 'Perhaps you should make it a career.'

Hermione rolled her eyes.

_'Now_ who's being dramatic.'

Lucius unfolded the Prophet with a subtle snap of pages and set about entertaining himself with the Quidditch scores.

'Damn it!' he hissed, a minute later. 'How typical.'

'What?'

'I should have reminded Bobbly to place me a bet on the Harpies. Nothing for years and now this?' he gesture to the page.

Hermione laughed lightly. 'You'd have been a few thousand galleons richer? Would that _really_ make such a big difference to your finances?'

'Money is money, my dear,' he sniffed, unhappily. 'The Gods are laughing at me.'

**oOo**

Lucius locked himself in the private hospital bathroom. He set his cane against the tub-side and ran a deep, very hot bath. He scrubbed every molecule of dirt and grease from his hair and skin. He emerged pink and satisfied. His wet hair dampened the back of his clean shirt.

Hermione was waiting for him. She put her hands on her hips furiously. It reminded him of Molly Weasley.

'What on _Earth_ do you think you're doing!' she demanded shrilly.

'Surely you don't intend to accompany me to the bathroom too?' he arched an elegant brow.

'Get back into bed, right this_ minute_. I mean it, Lucius. You're still sick!'

'Nonsense,' he straightened. 'If I'm forced to lay on that sweaty bunk for one more hour, I'll attempt apparition with our without my little _bodyguard.'_

He folded his arms. His shirt pulled tight around his biceps and accentuated his smooth, muscular chest.

'You're being ridiculous! What if the curse echoes again? It could happen any time, you know.'

**'**I feel fine,' he pointed out stubbornly.

'I'm _not_ going to argue with you.'

'Good,' he sniffed.

'You know perfectly well that's_ not_ what I mean!' she sighed, exasperated.

He smirked at her frustration. She went pink as he caught her by the waist. She subsided a little but he sensed she'd boil over again if provoked.

'Stop your fretting, Kitten,' he murmured to her temple. 'I want to see my house. If you're so worried, you'd better come with me.'

'You _can't-_' she sounded nearly tearful.

She spun at the sound of footsteps. Dr Grey stood in the open doorway. Reluctantly, Lucius let his little prize go.

'Grey,' Lucius nodded to the Doctor.

'Ready to leave, are you?' asked the Doctor. He looked amused but not very surprised. 'One condition,' Dr Grey held up a single finger. 'You go home and rest. I'll be paying a house call once a day.'

'That's two conditions,' Lucius said obstructively.

'No, the second is a given,' Grey folded his arms. 'No arguments.'

'Fine,' Lucius smiled coldly. 'Now. My shoes, Kitten. I won't be amused if you force me to parade myself half clad-'

'Oh _alright_!' Hermione hissed. 'Do you have to be so..._stubborn!'_

Hermione flicked her wand. His shoes materialised at his bedside. She'd hidden them the day before out of fear he'd try to walk out too soon.

'Good girl,' his fine lips tilted up.

'You're the most patronising man I've ever met,' she threw up her hands. 'Honestly. Would it kill you to give it a couple of days?'

'I'm fine,' he said tightly, in that dangerous tone of voice that suggested his decision was made and his temper was about to flare.

A little while later, he presented himself fully dressed. Hermione thought he still looked a bit pale.

'Come, come, we don't have all day,' he offered his arm.

'I can't believe I'm letting you boss me about,' Hermione sighed and grabbed their bag.

'You'd make a rather poor gaoler, my dear,' he smirked.

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


	9. Constrictor

**A/N - Please bare with me on the next chapters. I haven't been well recently - nothing serious, just stuff that takes up time and makes it difficult to sit writing for long. Work will move a bit more slowly now as I've had a sudden attack of inspiration for another fandom. Don't worry, I have no intention of abandoning Xeoforce, but the muse does as the muse wants, lol! The next chapter will be up as soon as possible.**

* * *

><p><span>9 - Constrictor<span>

The Winter sun hid her face behind a pall of thick fog. The clouds glowed gentle yellow. Two albino peacocks scratched at the resistant permafrost in their search for food. Their calls sent shivers of unease rippling down Hermione's back. She'd never liked the sound. The atmosphere around the estate was too close. The sky was heavy with coming snow. She and Lucius passed through the tingling wards and he stopped to lean on the gatepost, exhausted. Hermione caught him by his waistcoat.

'What's wrong? Lucius? Are you OK?'

Lucius gazed into her warm, brown eyes in surprise. He almost _fell_ in. _She loves me_, he realised, abruptly. _I can see it in her eyes. And I love her._

Despite his suspicions and their obvious mutual affection, the realisation that her feelings had become so real hit him with the force of a rampaging hippogriff.

'I _know_ you don't like asking for help but you have to when you feel like this!_ Honestly_, Lucius. I_ told_ you it was a bad idea to check out so soon!'

Hermione supported as much of his weight as she could. Lucius drew his wand from his cane and whispered the incantation to change the wards. Hermione felt a soft ripple of magic and understood that she could apparate inside the wards now.

'I'm quite aware that it was unwise to move but I've had quite enough of hospital food, hospitals beds and merlin _forbid_, hospital toilets. Do respect the boundaries I've given, my dear? I can't guarantee your safety should you try to breach the anti-apparition wards on the private rooms.'

'I'm flattered by your trust in me,' Hermione said drily. 'I can't _imagine_ what you think I'm going to do. Make off with your gold bullion in the night?'

'I'm rather more concerned that you'll apparate _into_ me,' he said.

Hermione disapparated with her arms around him. They appeared at the top of the second floor staircase. Lucius gazed around. The Manor was still a mess of fallen pillars and though the stone dust had been carefully cleared away by the elves, the evidence of the fire, particularly on the ceiling, was obvious.

'My_ house_,' he breathed in distress.

'I'm sorry,' Hermione said, feeling more than a bit guilty for her part in implicating him in this mess. She tried to look on the bright side. 'At least the fire didn't spread far. Look later. It's not going anywhere.'

Together they hobbled into his bedroom. A broad window faced the frozen lake. Fog lay heavy all over the estate, obscuring the distant forest and the silvery band of the river. Hermione longed more than anything to see the summer again. Winter always made her feel so trapped. Pensively, Lucius ran a loving hand down the windowframe where he found a nick in the varnish. He pushed his fingernail into it sullenly.

'This house has gone too long without my attention. I _intended_ to reopen it. That seems rather unlikely now. Help me into bed, Kitten?'

He sounded so tired. That worried her. With a couple of spells, he was clothed in his silk PJ's. He almost collapsed into the clutches of his bed and tiredly drew the coverlet up to his waist. Hermione slumped on the edge.

'If you keep looking so ill, I'm going to call the Doctor.'

'I'm _fine,_' he said, with an edge of dangerous intent behind his voice.

Hermione sighed. 'I don't think Harry is going to solve our case.'

'Your faith in your best friend is quite inspiring,' he arched his trademark eyebrow.

'It's not Harry I doubt. It's the bloody Ministry and their stupid red tape! Honestly, he has to jump through hoops just to get a warrant...and the more influential the suspect, the higher the hoops! It's _completely_ corrupt.'

Lucius' lips lifted in smug satisfaction. 'Gold can buy many things.'

'Some of us rely on doing the_ right thing_.'

'And some of us _don't_.'

She sighed expressively. 'I can't help but think...if we only had a cure for Mactoduplex, he wouldn't be nearly so hard to subdue. We'd have the upper hand. This can't continue forever. We have to _do_ something if we ever want to live normals lives again.'

'I would say...if anyone can do it, it's you,' he grasped her hand affectionately.

Hermione hid a smile. Lucius found her sudden shyness very endearing.

'I don't know if I can. But right now, it's the only decent plan I have. Facing him head on hasn't exactly worked out well for us so far.'

'Quite. Kitten, perhaps we ccould talk about this later? I'd like an uninterrupted nights sleep.'

'You've _got_ to promise to call me if you start feeling ill again,' she fixed him with a glare that suggested she was resistant to his Malfoy charm where his health was concerned. 'Tightness, pain, _anything.'_

'If you're so concerned, perhaps you should stay and tend to me,' he said slyly.

'Or I could just send Bobbly,' she deadpanned.

The latch clicked as she left him. He mused that he only needed to cough and she'd come running. He felt curiously...loved. It was a very vulnerable feeling. He didn't recall ever feeling it with Narcissa. Certainly they'd always tried to make the best of their situation but he never ached for her. Never burned for her.

**oOo**

Lucius stood at the first floor bannister where Fairwater's Mactoduplex-enhanced magic had decimated the fine stonework. The alcoves were empty of their statues. It felt desolate and violated. No longer completely _his_. He leaned heavily on his cane. Despite the Doctor's advice and Hermione's nagging, he was out of bed with no real desire to rest anymore.

'Bobbly,' Lucius noted that Bobbly had lost some weight. He couldn't think what to do about it, unless she came to him to ask for help. 'Why has an architect not been summoned?'

'He can't come until Wednesday,' Hermione supplied. She ascended the tower steps with an armful of books, 'He has a contract in Spain.'

'Did you even _attempt_ to bribe him?'

'No,' Hermione sighed. 'Of _course_ not. It took a month of Sundays to even find the paperwork in that mess of a filing system you have the nerve to call an office. Honestly, Lucius, for a businessman you're _not_ very well organised!'

He snorted. 'Why do _I_ always manage to find what I need then? Perhaps _you_ just don't understand my logic.'

Hermione arched an eyebrow.

'So you were idle in my absence then?' he enquired of Bobbly coolly. The elf wrung her hands anxiously. She'd changed since Misty's death. She was quieter and more withdrawn. She refused sick leave due to bereavement, preferring to stay busy despite Hermione pleading with her to accept her Master's kindness. Perhaps Bobbly sensed it was Hermione, rather than Lucius, behind the offer. Old habits certainly did die hard.

'Lucius, go back to bed,' Hermione set the books down. 'I have everything I need to keep the staircase safe until it can be properly fixed.'

'If we lose the staircase-' his chilly voice carried the hint of a threat.

'We _won't_,' she insisted.

To his back she muttered; 'Not like it'd matter if you had to pay for a new one anyway.'

'It's my heart that's struggling, Kitten,_ not_ my ears!' he called over his shoulder.

**oOo**

Lucius stood at the Morning Room window. The clouds had finally parted that morning and the sun streamed in. It shone through his platinum hair and caught on the silver of his snakes-head cane. Just the sight of finer weather lifted his spirits. Absently, he rubbed his breastbone. He felt like a prisoner in his own house, confined to a few steps this way or that. He didn't dare attempt apparition, not even inside the estate. He was too proud to admit that incarceration, illness and bad publicity had left him unwilling to go far without his diminutive escort.

'Please tell me that isn't hurting,' Hermione leaned on the doorframe, a book clutched close to her chest. 'You've been worrying it since breakfast.'

He stuffed his hand into the pocket of his robe.

'Lucius, you've got an entire library to distract you and I can't keep you in bed for more than an hour?' she gazed up disapprovingly.

'I'm tired of resting,' he said, a bit shortly.

'Well-' she sputtered. 'You really don't have a choice, do you?

She snatched him by his velvet arm before he could stride past her. 'Where do you think you're going!'

'Outside, at least,' he said. 'Before I run mad.'

'No. Absolutely not!' she blocked his way with her body.

_'Really_, my dear,' he drawled. 'Riding won't kill me.'

'No!' her voice finally rose in frustration. 'God, why are you so bloody stubborn! You're _not_ going outside! You're going back to bed if I have to _stupefy_ you and drag you by your feet!'

Lucius drew himself up to his full, lofty height and gazed imperiously down at her. Hermione folded her arms stubbornly, her wand at the ready between her fingers. She met his icy patrician stare and had the audacity to laugh at him.

'Something amuses you, does it?' he asked coldly.

_'You_ do,' she was still smirking. 'If you don't want to end up back in St Mungo's, you really ought to listen to me.'

The confrontation ended abruptly as he snatched at his chest with a hiss that the Malfoy poker face couldn't hide. He went abruptly, completely white. Hermione snatched him out of the air as he collapsed and sank to the carpet under his weight.

'BOBBLY!' Hermione screamed. Her eyes filled up with tears as he struggled for his next breaths. She clutched him, his silver head in her lap. 'You bloody _idiot_!'

**oOo**

'I've explained to him that he needs to rest,' said Dr Grey. They stood outside Lucius' chamber. It was nearly evening. The peacocks had returned to the pine trees to roost and the smell of dinner wafter up from the kitchen where Bobbly would be working hard. Hermione was cold and it was nothing to do with the temperature inside the house.

'He almost died,' she folded her arms over her chest.

'His heart is straining. The Curse is causing his heart to beat too slowly. He won't consent to be moved. There's noone to override him. I'll sent round the clock care.'

Grey put both hands into his coat pockets.

'Exertion could kill him. We'll keep him sedated. I'll be back in the morning. If he becomes confused or complains of tightness or pain, Floo immediately.'

Hermione nodded. She felt like she'd walked into a nightmare. She pushed the door and padded softly into the bedroom. The drapes were drawn. It was almost dark inside. Lucius lay on his right side with his eyes closed. An odd, panicky feeling coiled in her guts. He'd wormed so far under her skin that she wanted to cry just thinking about the terrible danger he was in. She climbed into bed beside him and wrapped him in her arms. His eyelids fluttered. He sighed, weakly.

'Don't you _dare_ give up on me now,' she choked out.

'Kitten,' he murmured. He grasped her wrist with failing strength and sighed in relief. She shivered deliciously and pressed closer, eager to enjoy his warmth. She knew it might not last.

'Frustrating,' he whispered. 'You're in my bed...and all I can do is...' he trailed away into sleep.

He didn't seem to feel her tears. They wet the black silk covering his back. Her grip tightened as she tried not to sob.

**oOo**

Days passed. Lucius barely moved except under an _Ennervate_ to take the potions provided by the round-the-clock healers. His chest rose and fell evenly. Hermione spent hours watching him for any sign of distress. The silence gave her too much time to think and remember. Her grief for Gillian caught up with her and on its heels, Misty too. She cried far too often until she was puffy and exhausted. The silent house weighed heavy on her. It was too quiet.

Dr Grey visited often.

Hermione researched the Mactoduplex cure and began work on a new equation but she rarely left Lucius' chamber except to fetch more books. Bobbly brought up her meals and delivered Crookshanks to her. She needed the company. She dreamed vividly. Misty remained in stasis, awaiting a time when Lucius and Hermione could attend her funeral together.

Now and then Lucius woke for long enough to notice the warm, often _damp_ presence nearby. She held his hand. Her silky hair tickled his jaw. She read to him. Sometimes it was a story from a favourite childhood book. He knew them from summers spent sequestered in the library, hiding from his Father.

He woke nearly a week later. The potions course was done. Colour had returned to his face. Dr Grey pulled Hermione aside and for once, he was wearing a reassuring smile. She felt her heart lighten and realised the burden of worry she'd been carrying.

'The curse is almost purged from his system now. He'll be tired and weak but the worst of the danger has passed. He'll need to eat regularly.'

She'd never heard news so good, not since she'd realised Voldemort was finally dead.

**oOo**

Lucius was weak but he didn't feel quite as bad as he'd imagined he would. His mouth felt like a bird had made a nest in it, pooped, and moved on without clearing up. He swung his legs out of bed. A tiny squeak from the door preceded a rush, a pair of hands and suddenly he was faced with a worried, beautiful girl.

'NO,' she pointed at the bed. 'Absolutely not. Get back in bed, right now!'

'Where's my wand?'

She summoned it for him and handed it over. It had rolled under the bed.

'I swear,' she said. 'If you don't get back into bed I'm going to body bind you.'

'Good luck,' he muttered.

Her lip trembled. He hissed in irritation and gestured to himself.

'I feel disgusting! Would a bath be out of the question, _nurse_?'

'Yes! Absolutely out of the question. You're still sick.'

'I haven't had this sort of pampering since the time I had the Dragon Pox.'

'I swear,' she leaned in close. 'I'll _leave_ if you put yourself in danger again.'

He drew himself up to his full, impressive height but the effect was somewhat ruined by his tousled hair and baggy eyes. His gaze was chilly.

'I need a _wash, _woman! If I'd thought you were going to channel my Mother, I'd have kicked you out long ago.'

'I wouldn't need to if you'd care for your own health!' she snapped. 'A cleaning charm will have to be enough for you.'

Lucius unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off his shoulders. Her breath caught. By _God_, he was a beautiful man. Sculpted and muscular. His rich history was written into his skin in the form of scars. She flushed.

'Would you care to _watch_?' he murmured invitingly. She'd never seen him flirt like that. It stole her breath and made her helpless. He brushed past her on his way to the bathroom. She suddered, the apex between her legs suddenly wet and achy.

She hovered on the threshold. He slid his long fingers into the waistband of his pyjama bottoms and began to slowly pull them down. As his hips were revealed, Hermione spun away to press her back to the cool wall. Her face was on fire. She closed her eyes. She didn't want to see him like this. Like a carer or a nurse.

He padded around the tub and began to run the water. She caught a glimpse of his shapely backside as he tested the water and sank into it blissfully. His wand rested on the porcelain, within easy reaching distance.

'Clearly,' he drawled, to the almost shut door, 'your parents never taught you it'd rude to spy on people. _Especially_ when they're naked.'

'You're a stubborn, stupid, _snake_!' she breathed.

'You're a bossy, overprotective _girl_,' he countered but it didn't have his usual venom. Water sloshed as he rested his wet forearm on the tub.

She fought back a tide of tears. She wanted to scream at him. She wouldn't reveal such a precious, delicate secret for the sake of an argument. Her silence was telling.

'Come and sit beside me, then,' he suggested. 'You can make sure I don't drown in my bathwater.'

When she didn't answer because of the lump in her throat, he played her again; 'I can wear a flannel, if you're shy.'

She sank to the floor outside the room and shoved her wand into her sock.

'The second you go quiet in there, I'm coming in no matter what you think of it.'

'I'll be very quiet then.'

'Lucius,' she finally breathed. 'Just...stop it. _Stop_ it._ Please.'_

'Stop what, my dear?'

'You _know_ what,' she snapped. 'Stop, because...'

'Because?' he asked sinuously. He ducked under the water and came up with soaking platinum hair draped around his shoulders.

Hermione put her head back against the wall with a little_ thump_. When had she started to care? It was normal to care for a friend, wasn't it? But how could she class a man she'd snogged so passionately as a mere friend? She wanted it to be more. That was as insane as sitting outside the bathroom, nearly in tears because she was so worried he'd die in the tub.

_And all the selfish, arrogant prick can do is goad me_, she thought. _I should hate him. He did this deliberately. Made me care...and now he's teasing me. The _**bastard.**

She raked her hair back and put her head down on her knees.

'I've left the soap in the shower,' he bemoaned the lack of it.

'Then _accio_ it.'

'But I'm so _tired,' _he said, pathetically.

'Lucius. _Don't_ make me come in there._ Please. _I...I don't want to look at you...like_ this_. I want it to be...special.'

The stress and torment of the last few weeks was finally catching up with her. Her eyes were full of tears. She didn't want him to see her cry. Then something flared in her chest like a flower finally offered light. It was _love._

Lucius summoned the soap. It fell into the bath with a _plop_. His wand clunked hollowly as he set it back on the tabletop. She silently thanked the Gods for a bit of splashing. It hid her unsteady breaths. She listened to him bathe. She swore to herself that if he went quiet for even three seconds, she'd go in. He never went quiet after that.

She scrambled to her feet when he emerged. She was flushed with shame at sitting by the bathroom door like a little voyeur. His steely eyes roved over her messy hair and pink eyes. He could see she'd been crying.

'Just...get into bed, will you?' she said.

A dozen comments teemed, begging for release. _At last, the lady asks. _He stopped himself. He sensed it wasn't the time to tease her. She looked like a dry reed ready to snap.

She hid her face behind her hair and counted to ten to calm the raging ache in her chest and quell the burning tears.

'Kitten-' Offering her an embrace opened the floodgates. She buried her nose in his silky chest and sobbed in a way he'd never seen before. He had the feeling that it wasn't all to do with their silly little clashes. There was a hint of Gillian, of Misty, of Delamere in there too. He whispered sweet nonsense into her hair until she calmed down enough to decide she was ashamed of herself. She swiped at her eyes in that infuriating way Narcissa used to, trying to deny the presence of tears. As if she could. Her breathing hitched when she cried and gave her away.

'It wasn't my intention to make you cry,' he drew her towards the bed. She was a bit afraid he might refuse to rest if she didn't go with him.

The sheets smelled clean. Hermione knew Bobbly would gladly bring dinner on a tray if they asked. She cuddled under the duvet with her head on his chest and her arm resting idly on his belly. He twined her curls around his fingers. She could feel the muscles in his arm shifting gently. It sent a curl of hot desire through her core but she tried not to think about that. Not right now.

'I don't want you to die because you're too proud to lie in bed,' she sniffed.

'It's a _risk_, Kitten,' he murmured, his breath warm against the baby-fine, new hairs that grew at her parting. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. '_Not_ a guarantee.'

'Well, I don't want even a _risk!'_

'Of course not,' he laid a warm, dry kiss on her temple. 'I pay too well.'

She pushed away from him in a huff.

'Kitten-' he warned her in that voice he used to subdue elves and persuade Ministers to do his bidding. She paused. 'I admit. That was too far.'

'You really ought to practise the words, _I'm sorry, Hermione_,' she said unhappily. 'The longer I spend around you, the more you need them.'

'Touche,' he couldn't help but smirk. 'Please,' he added, patting the bed.

'That's a _start,_' she sighed and settled down again.

**oOo**

Hermione snatched up her wand from the nightstand and cast a weak _Lumos_ to lend some relief from the night.

'Kitten?' came a sleepy murmur from under the pile of covers.

She leaned almost double at the edge of the bed. Her skin was sheened with sweat. She was trembling.

'Sorry,' she whispered. She could hear her own ragged breathing. 'I didn't mean to wake you. It was just a dream.'

Lucius wrapped a warm arm around her waist and pulled her down. He wrapped her in silky arms and waited for her breathing to settle.

'What was it about?'

'Hogwarts,' she whispered. She buried her face in his shoulder. 'The battle. Sometimes...I honestly don't want to even try going to sleep. I close my eyes and all I can see is Fred and Lavendar. Remus and Tonks. I know I'm lucky to be alive but I really don't _feel_ lucky.'

Lucius traced the letters of the _Mudblood_ scar on her arm. His own methods of humiliation were more subtle and versatile. He covered it with his hand, as though hiding it could make it go away.

'I had no choice,' he whispered to her hairline. 'If I'd refused...the Dark Lord would have killed Draco. You can't ask me to be sorry for saving my son.'

'I didn't ask!' she protested.

'You made me _feel_ it,' he hissed. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She knew there was more going on under his skin than he was willing to voice. 'How can you make me feel that?' He sounded more confused than angry.

'I never said I held you responsible,' she said softly. 'I know the position you were in.'

Lucius sighed a hot breath into her hair and closed his eyes.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered, all the same. She kissed his rough cheek gently. They fell silent. Before long he began to snore. _Typical,_ she thought fondly. _Even Purebloods snore._

**oOo**

'Well,' said a sleepy, posh voice next to her ear. 'Good morning, princess.'

'Majesty,' she murmured. She was cocooned in his silk sheets and very warm beside him.

'At last, the deference I deserve.'

'I'll give you what you deserve,' Hermione put her arm over her eyes to block out the light.

'You'd best wait until I'm recovered,' he said into her hair. 'It'd be unfortunate indeed if I shuffled off the mortal coil before the...ah...climax.'

'Do you really have to get up so bloody _early_?'

'I have business to attend to. Unlike some people.'

'You're not going anywhere,' she promised.

'Quite,' he agreed. 'I intend to work right here.'

She groaned and sat up. 'I suppose I should be grateful. The fact you're lively enough to tease me _is _reassuring.'

'The foul concoction to which I've been routinely subjected seems to have worked its magic,' he admitted, as Bobbly appeared to bring him his Daily Prophet and correspondence.

'Lucius,' she sat on his side of the bed and gave him a bossy look that Molly Weasley would be proud of. 'I want you to promise you won't do anything stupid. Can I at least go the library and trust you to stay in bed?'

Barbs swarmed on his tongue. He bit them back and gave her a curt nod.

'If you do,' she wheedled expertly. 'I'll try to hasten the architect for the grand staircase.'

'Bribery is most unbecoming in a lady,' he arched a brow. 'But very well. My father would turn in his grave is he saw the state of the Manor.'

He gave that due consideration. 'Perhaps I should leave it as it is.'

She couldn't help but laugh. 'I think you'd better get your chequebook out. He was in the Caribbean and I don't think he's going to want his holiday cut short.'

Lucius snorted. 'There's loyalty. Have Bobbly cancel his contract if he refuses to come and contact Gaspard Cuvier of Paris instead.'

Hermione gave him a nod. 'OK. Just...take it easy?'

'Certainly,' he agreed, as he uncapped his inkwell.

**oOo**

'I suppose he can set it back as it was?' Lucius enquired, when he'd managed a bath and dressed in clean pyjamas.

Monsieur Cuvier had in fact nearly had a conniption over the size and beauty of the Manor and would certainly have been delighted to bring his personal flair to bear.

'I think he was hoping you'd consent to strategically placed gargoyles,' Hermione reclined beside him, her book open on her belly.

'Certainly _not_,' Lucius sniffed. 'It'll be exactly as it was before.'

He set aside his lunch tray.

'At least you've got an appetite,' she commented. An eyebrow was all she got for her trouble.

'You make a rather diligent little interior designer, don't you? I'm sure that's not in your Ministry contract.'

Hermione folded her arms. 'What's a contract got to do with it? I'd help you just because we're friends.'

The trademark Malfoy smirk put in an appearance.

'Is that what we are?'

She flushed.

'I don't kiss my friends, my dear but as you like it.'

**oOo**

Hermione sat beside him in the study and pressed a beautifully wrapped gift into his hands.

'It's a bit late, I know,' she went pink. 'But Happy Christmas all the same.'

Lucius took out the book and ran his fingertips down the cover reverently. He smiled. She must have noticed his gardening periodicals and the various tomes he used to tend to his conservatory full of exotic species.

'I saw you look at it in the bookshop.'

'Thank you,' he breathed, against her cheek. He accio'd her gift and handed it to her.

'I was waiting for the right time to give it to you,' he said. Her squeal of delight was worth every knut. She threw her arms around his neck, almost knocking him over and whispered her thanks to his hair when she saw he had, in fact, purchased the potions book she'd craved and almost left behind.

Much later, they sat together, her feet on his lap, absorbed in their presents and content with company.

**oOo**

Lucius wasn't sleeping well, perhaps because he wasn't getting any exercise. Dr Grey came and went less frequently. A week passed by during which work began on the ceiling and a sculptor was hired to replace the missing statues.

The ash and soot were swiftly cleared away and the old, burned red carpet was slit into pieces and piled onto the drive to be vanished away for incineration. Green replaced it. Lucius had always preferred green.

Monsieur Cuvier hovered around his experts at the bottom of the stairs. He was a portly little man who knew all there was to know about stone. He was as enthusiastic as any artist in his element.

'I really don't think you should be up,' Hermione said, as Lucius approached her in the study.

'If I spend another hour in bed today I'll go mad,' he sniffed.

'That's what _books _are for, Lucius.'

'Much longer and I'll have read my way around the entire library!'

'Just promise me you'll be gentle with yourself.'

He poured himself a whisky and settled into his armchair.

'You know perfectly well that doesn't mix with your medication.'

'Yes, _Mother_,' he smirked. 'Kitten? Why is there a free elf waiting in the doorway?'

'Oh,' she had the decency to look a bit embarassed. 'I meant to tell you. I might have...found you and new housekeeper.'

Up went the eyebrow. His gaze turned chilly. She endeavoured to look innocent.

'What a clever little witch you are.'

'I honestly don't know what you're talking about. Trick has excellent references. His Mistress is gone...her estate dissolved and he was looking for work so it seemed sensible-'

Lucius folded his arms. She wasn't sure if he was more amused or irritated. In the end she shrugged and went to the window to gaze at the gardens.

'He's quite happy with the position,' Hermione added, a bit guiltily. 'You only need to agree to...pay him. A pretty _normal_ condition of employment if you ask me.'

'Your fingers have found my purse strings already. I confess I'm hardly surprised.'

'That's bloody insulting! You know very well I've never asked you for a sickle!' She folded her arms a bit petulantly. 'Anyway. Five galleons a month will hardly kill you.'

'Come,' Lucius said. Trick clutched his little hat like a talisman against harm and inched closer.

'Trick work very hard. For his Mistress, he do all things. Cooking, cleaning, toileting-' squeaked the elf.

'I assure you the last won't be necessary here.'

Trick bowed again.

'Trick has lost his family. He would be honoured to serve the noble house of Malfoy.'

'I was thinking he could be your personal elf,' Hermione shrugged. 'Bobbly struggles with her sleep and her knees. I think she'd appreciate a quieter position.'

He set his glass down and sighed.

'Fine,' he nodded. 'Fine. If _that's_ what it takes to make you happy,' he said to her.

'Thank you, Master Malfoy,' Trick bowed, but it was Hermione's little smile that felt like the true reward.

**oOo**

The stairs were almost finished and now only M. Cuvier, his assistant and a few lonely painters persisted, hanging from ropes and levitated platforms to finish the delicate ceilings. Lucius was ensconced in the library, a book of poetry open on his knee. He looked so sweet with his feet up on the sofa and his cane leaning near his elbow. Hermione slung her scarf onto the back and settled down beside him.

'I thought I might throw an extravagant affair,' he said softly, after a minute of playing with her curls. 'Would you care to squeeze into your ballgown again?'

'Squeeze?' he cast him a look. 'Would _you_ care to squeeze into your waistcoat!'

_'I_ won't need to,' he sniffed playfully. 'Can you hear what I can?' he sighed.

She listened. Cuvier didn't get on with the painter and that was putting it mildly.

'Yeah,' she nodded. She slid off his lap and straightened her clothes.

'I plead heart failure,' he put his head back somewhat dramatically. She was reminded of Draco playing up every little injury to get attention. That was probably where he'd learned it. 'Get your claws out, Kitten.'

**oOo**

On the twenty-fifth of January, Lucius finally took a walk to the edge of the lake, wrapped in his warmest cloak. The sky was grey and heavy. There wasn't a sliver of high blue to be found, nor any direct sunlight. It felt oppressive and he began to wish for a long holiday in a warmer climate. A freezing wind stirred his loose hair and sensitized his scalp. He breathed in the fresh air and watched the swans pad back and forth on the ice.

The Manor was finally free of builders, experts, apprentices and decorators. He finally felt as if he could settle.

His walk back was slow.

Hermione lay on the sofa in the study. Her open book had fallen into her lap. The fire raged behind her, slowly drying her recently washed curls. There was soft blanket on her knees. He guessed one of the elves had put it there when she fell asleep. The firelight lent her beautiful hair tinges of liquid bronze and gold. He perched beside her, delighted by the way her breast rose and fell. Her index finger twitched in her sleep as though she was dreaming of turning the page. He smiled.

It was so hard to remember a time before her. He wasn't sure he wanted to. She hummed in soft complaint as he shed his cloak and gathered her into his embrace.

'Lucius-' she sighed, unguardedly. He buried his hand in her silky hair. She was so warm. So small, too. A perfect fit. She wore an adorable, sleepy pout that looked so innocent on her face. 'Cold!' she whimpered._ 'Blanket!'_

He pulled his cloak over them. She slept another half hour, drooling on his shoulder before he eyelids finally flickered.

'What time is it?' she murmured.

'Daytime, my dear,' he teased her gently. With a fingertip, he played with the hollow between her collarbones. He wanted to touch all of her. He wanted her to want that too. He wanted to be the first to see her gorgeous eyes widen in surprise, watch her gasp as he filled her body intimately.

'You're warm,' she buried her face in him affectionately.

'And rather wet, thanks to you,' he stroked the smooth back of her neck. She sent tingles of electric desire through him.

'You're welcome,' she grinned. 'Monsieur Cuvier didn't want to leave! I think he's in love with this house.'

'It had better be_ only_ the house,' Lucius cupped her soft face.

'I can assure you I have no romantic aspirations of M. Cuvier.'

'I sink 'ee may 'ave some for yoo?' Lucius smirked. She giggled.

'I just had a dream about you.'

Just the smell of her skin was enough to comfort him.

'Really? Was it innocent?' he asked.

She nodded. 'Completely innocent.'

'What a shame.'

'You made me take a bath but then you wouldn't get in with me. The water was_ cold.'_

'You poor thing!' he said, with feigned concern. 'Would you like me to rectify that?'

'I already had a bath today,' she teased.

'Well another won't hurt, my dear. You won't wash away.'

She reached up to run her fingers through his hair. His eyelids fluttered closed in the way they were wont to do when he was enjoying himself immensely.

'That's so good, Kitten,' he sighed.

His fingers tightened on her waist. Eventually, his hand wandered to her thigh. He coaxed her leg over his and rolled so that she was almost underneath him. She'd barely noticed his smooth manoevre until it was too late. He kissed the hollow between her collarbones and gazed at her with steel grey eyes framed by hair messed by her attention.

_'Finally_ we have some peace,' he murmured.

His lips left a hot, wet trail that chilled swiftly even this close to the fire. She shivered when he closed his lips and teeth around her earlobe. She squirmed to get closer but he had a way of keeping her away from the most important bits. He teased her with a tantalising brush of lips until she squeaked her protest.

The eventual kiss was all the sweeter for his teasing. She melted into him, willingly melting into his thorough sharing of lips and hearts until heat bloomed in her core, teasing her with possibility.

She tried arching, hoping to catch some part of him – a hip, a thigh, anything – against her core, but he was far too savvy to allow it.

'Ah, ah, ah,' he said against her mouth. 'We mustn't play with fire.'

'Well...maybe I want to get burned.'

'_Nobody_ likes getting burned,' he closed the distance was the intensity of the last word and rubbed sinuously against her, catching her clit with a little shift. The pressure was gone again before she could really enjoy it. She moaned in frustration.

'_Patience_,' he said, his teeth against her jaw. 'Or you'll tempt me into more than you want.'

'Or more than your ticker can handle,' she pressed a hand to his heart.

She gazed at him with eyes bursting with love. He wasn't sure whether to run screaming or swear undying devotion. He settled on silence, for now, and a smile that spread from his face to hers. The feeling of unbreakable connection washed through him, a tug on his heart strings.

She kissed him softly, her tentative exploration all the more arousing because she obviously wasn't very experienced. It was driving him_ crazy_. She grew a bit bolder with every attempt. He'd almost hexed the painter just because he was sick of waiting for the next time he could catch her alone. He'd actually started to miss the taste of her mouth.

_You're falling for her,_ an inner voice advised. _You're falling, and you're falling hard. _

'Would you do me the honour of wearing something very special to dinner tonight?'

'That depends,' she grinned. 'Is it a tea-towel?'

'Little minx,' he smiled fondly. '_Don't_ tempt me.'

Her lips were plump an pink from the kiss that he wasn't sure how long he could wait before he had to taste them again. She was too comfortable, too warm, too beautiful. He wanted to scoop her up, take her upstairs and deflower her thoroughly.

_Patience, Lucius. Practise what you preach._

'Of course I will,' she smiled.

His insides curled in delight. Narcissa would have wanted to see it first. She'd never agree to wear just anything, and especially not without checking that it flattered her figure.

He managed to tear himself from contact with her warm, firm little body and tugged her gently to her feet. She wrapped her arms around him and put her head on his chest. He found he couldn't muster the desire to move another step. As she snaked her clever little fingers into the baby fine hairs at the base of his scalp, he wondered what she'd do the first time. Would she be shy or brazen, innocent or confident? Had the Weasley rat touched her, given her more of an education than she let on?

_Not judging by the way she kisses,_ he thought. Would she moan, ask for more? Would she _cry_? Gods, if she cried, he'd despise himself.

'What're you thinking?' she smiled at him. 'Your eyes go all glazed when you think.'

He slid his hand into hers and drew her to the stairs.

'Nothing,' he lied. _No sense frightening the girl._

**oOo**

Hermione held the shimmering silver-blue gown up to the full-length mirror in his suite. With her feet planted in the deep pile rug that her hands around a small fortune she shook her head. Was it opulence, or did he simply not care what cost what?

'You must be joking,' she stared at him. 'You actually want me to _wear_ this? It must be worth a fortune.'

'It'll suit you,' he snagged her by her waist. It was still early enough in their relationship that he delighted in every chance to touch her for the novelty of her willing warmth. 'It's silversilk. Charmed, naturally, to fit the wearer. Something of a family heirloom.'

She laid it gently over the back of the nearby chair and wrapped her arms around him. He went warm.

**oOo**

Lucius tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. At his feet, Adder snoozed with one eye half closed. Lucius could feel the distant, languid thud of his heartbeat. Bobbly opened the door and gestured inside the entire household staff. It wasn't until they were all inside that he moved, like a statue given sudden life.

'Those who want it are free. I'll pay each who stay five galleons a month and provide room and board.'

Lucius caught Bobbly with both hands as she fainted.

'It seems as though I'm releasing you from my service. I'm not. Times have changed.'

Bobbly chose that moment to come round.

'Master...frees us?' spoke up their elven stablehand. 'We can serve him...if we _wish_ it?'

'Yes,' Lucius finally sighed. 'Precisely. Under a contract of employment which you may elect to leave at any time.'

'Bobbly will serve, sir! Bobbly has nowhere else to go!'

'I could find you another position, if you wanted it.'

'No, Master!' Bobbly threw herself at his feet. 'Bobbly will stay with Master Malfoy!'

'Fetch the trunk from my wardrobe, then,' he told her.

**oOo**

Hermione was bent over her Mactoduplex cure research when the tiniest sound alerted her to company. She set down her quill, aware that Trick was nearby, judging by the brightly coloured vest in her peripheral vision. It wasn't Trick.

'Bobbly?' Hermione started. 'My God, what's happened! He can't have! He _didn't_!'

'Master is making free elves of us all,' Bobbly teared up. 'Bobbly will stay, Miss. Bobbly will always serve the noble house of Malfoy.'

Hermione rounded the corner on her way to the study and burst in. Sixteen elves stood in elf-sized clothes. There wasn't one dirty pillowcase in sight. Hermione laughed.

'You've finally gone mad!' she declared. Lucius gazed up, half insecure, half smug. She suddenly felt so proud of him. _He's changed_, she realised.

'Actually, my dear, I think I'm finally seeing clearly.'

'You...dismissed...your entire staff?' she stammered.

'No,' he cut through the miniature throng to take her by the waist. 'Most have agreed to stay. Under...different...working conditions. A gift, Kitten. Long overdue, for which they have you to thank.'

'I can't believe it,' she finally said. 'Honestly, I never thought I'd live to see the day you'd do this!'

Lucius slipped his hand gently into hers and squeezed.

'Are you happy, my dear?'

'Yes,' she breathed.

'Miss?' said Trick, who was already a free elf but who'd come to enjoy the sight all the same. He held out his hand to show her five galleons and one by one, the others did the same.

Hermione threw her arms around Lucius' neck and hugged him.

'You must promise me you won't gloat,' he teased.

'Not one word,' she shook her head. 'I swear. Not one.'

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


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